


The Trial of Hordak

by TeaWithNyarlathotep



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Personal Horror, Psychological Horror, Suicidal Themes, Suicidal Thoughts, Themes Of Cult Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 76,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaWithNyarlathotep/pseuds/TeaWithNyarlathotep
Summary: In this six-part story, Hordak goes on trial for his crimes against Etheria. Separated from Entrapta and with Adora his only defense, Hordak faces the will of the masses... and the murmurs in the back of his mind.
Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 96
Kudos: 235





	1. Solitude is Best Society

If he were to be entirely honest, he was not buying this as a prison cell. In the middle of the room, a massive futon to sit upon. It was polished, clean, shining one of Horde Prime’s countless corridors.

Ah, so that was why discomfort crept into his thoughts.

Horde Prime, he had to remind himself, was not here. He could still feel his hands against his body. A chill ran down from the port in the conqueror’s neck, down all the way to his feet. He blinked dozens of times, trying to wipe it from his mind entirely. He would have rather had the heated, rusted confines of his sanctum. Unfortunately, it seemed the Princesses would not see their reviled foe given such accommodations.

Hordak supposed he could not blame them. After all, if he were to deal with someone who had already proven themself treacherous and violent, surely he would not make such an error as to let them not only go free, but give them that which they asked for? That would be preposterous, would it not? It would be something done only by one who had no idea what to do… or one who wished to fail.

_There was even a time you wished I would not come for you, is that so?_

Once more did he hear the voice of Horde Prime in his head. The accursed conqueror, a Brother who viewed himself as divine. Grandiloquent and narcissistic in extremes. There was something about him, something so strange in the way he committed cruelty after cruelty without even a momentary regret. To Prime, all had been certain, even the way worlds he had so despised had swirled in rapturous, cleansing flame.

Hordak’s pretentious ruminations were disrupted by the opening of the door. Then did the persistent feeling of clawing at his back dispel itself, and then did notions of apprehension leave him. At the door, her hair let down, stood the one they called Adora. She wore her red jacket. He could remember her, as she had been that day he had pulled her from the grass.

Such a small decision, to save a child. Well, he supposed the Alliance would not see it as a rescue. They would see it as a kidnapping. Some people, it seemed, saw things differently than others. Hordak despised the crying of children, he despised the way they constantly demanded attention, but that didn’t mean he was about to leave one to Etheria herself.

It had been that he had hoped for a signal, the knowledge that out there, Prime was looking for his top general. He had wanted something from his Brother; a ship, supplies, a comrade, even a message.  
He had many questions for Prime, questions that would never be answered. Why had Prime obsessed with him so? Hordak could only conjure up theories and stories. Perhaps Horde Prime had cared, after all? No, no, no. He had to avoid that line of thought; besides, it was clear to anyone paying attention that his Brother had obsessed with him because he hadn’t just died.

Hordak was not the first defective clone. Hardly. He was simply the first to survive.

Hordak moved his slouched body to the side of the futon, making space. Adora was visibly nervous, moving her fingers along her lower arm. The conqueror clasped his hands, his flowing black garb billowing due to the whims of the wind.

“Hi?” said Adora.

“Hello.”

“Sorry, you just remind me of someone. The billowing garb, and the slouch, and the nasty look.”

Hordak tilted his head.

“No, no!” she exclaimed, holding her hands out. “I’m not calling you ugly or anything.”

Hordak simply shrugged. He supposed “nasty” would be far from the worst thing thrown at him in the coming days. As a warm wind blew through the room, blowing Adora’s hair over her eyes, Hordak could not help but let his mouth curl into a slight smile.

Adora had a stern look once the hair was brushed from her face. Granted, this being Adora, Hordak could not help but find it a little comical unto itself. She quickly lightened up.

“We need to talk about the case,” Adora said. “Also, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?” Hordak asked. “I have little to say.”

“Glimmer’s been stressed, looking for the laws on holding a trial. We haven’t had one since, well, since before you got here, actually.”

“Ah. I was important enough to completely halt the legal system of Bright Moon? Flattering.”

“See, that’s the problem. The jury, I think it’s called a jury, as I’ve said, we’re literally reinventing the legal system here, isn’t going to think you regret anything if you take this tone.”

“Do you think I regret anything?” Hordak asked, stone-faced.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. Do you, Princess, think that I, Hordak, regret what I have done?”

“Of course! I mean, you have to.”

“I _have to_. A societal expectation.”

“You turned on Horde Prime, I saved you, you surrendered yourself to captivity and to a fair trial. Clearly, you regret something. I mean, you saved Etheria.”

“I recall saving Entrapta.”

“Yeah. You shot Horde Prime, threw him off a ledge. Without you, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

Hordak scoffed. If his eyes had pupils, one could be sure the conqueror would be rolling them. The young woman, alright, he supposed she was a woman now, rather than a child as he had always seen her. At least, that was what he was sure Entrapta would tell him. Clasping his hands, curling his clawed digits into one another, Hordak tried to ignore an unease in his body, a nauseating feeling.

“Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing would save Etheria. He tried to make me shoot Entrapta. I betrayed him.”

“Exactly. You turned good.”

“Good, Princess? If you think I am ‘good’ now, allow me to ask you a question.”

“Alright, I suppose.”

“Do you think we would be standing here if he hadn’t tried to make me shoot Entrapta?”

“Why would you even ask me that? Horde Prime tried to make you shoot Entrapta, you didn’t, end of story, right?”

“I am not saying it is not fortunate. I am merely saying that ‘good’ is something reflected through a distinctly Etherian viewpoint.”

“Well, you’re here now, so you must regret what you did, right?”

“I mean, it’s certainly a plausible assumption, with my knowledge of Etherian customs. I won’t deny the logic in the idea.”

“That’s not an answer, Hordak. That jury is going to be baying for your blood.”

“Half of Etheria was baying for my blood, I think I’ll be alright.”

“When that happened, you had an army and you still lost.”

“In fairness to me, I was preoccupied trying to murder Catra.”

Suddenly, her glare went completely serious. Hordak blinked a couple times, and then awkwardly scratched at his head. Unlike before, this glare was not even slightly humorous. In fact, it turned the chill running through his body to a boiling heat. If Hordak could sweat, he would be doing so profusely.

“To her credit,” he hastily corrected. “She did give as good as she got. And she won.”

“And then you tried to kill Glimmer.”

“I wasn’t going to _kill_ her. I was in a weakened state, bludgeoning her a little would have been a concussion at worst. It would have been merciful compared to letting her be captured by Prime.”

“A concussion at worst?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Hordak looked at his hands. They were the same shade of dark blue as those of Prime himself, the man he owed his very existence to. He had killed Horde Prime. Gulping, he looked to Adora.

“Let’s get back to the subject?” he asked, his eyes wide.

It had not been too long after he had turned himself in. Entrapta had been sent to Horde territory to help repair the damage his machines had done. The conqueror was due to be tried “by a jury of his peers” which, fortunately enough, did not mean the clones of Prime. They, meanwhile, were scattered throughout Etheria. After a plea from Adora, an agreement had been made to let them live free unless they were actively causing trouble. Hordak supposed he was thankful his brethren would be alright.

Hordak seemed alright. Prime’s reconditioning of his body, a revolutionary technology, had restored him to his typical strength. It had repaired his defects, and now he did worry. Perhaps Entrapta, drawn to him by his imperfection, would no longer care now that he lacked them?

He pushed the thought aside. Entrapta was not his concern now. Bright Moon had also been so polite as to give him a dress, a new one which did not expose so much of his repaired body, not to mention having a small pocket upon his chest, a very special pocket. The old dress, after all, had been completely destroyed by Prime after he had returned to the ship.

“Riiiiiiight,” Adora said, looking to the side. “So, _after_ you tried to murder my girlfriend, and give my friend brain damage, what exactly happened?”

“Has Entrapta not told you?”

“Entrapta’s told me, but I suppose I need to hear it from you.”

Hordak shuffled. He crossed his legs, and his back straightened. He clasped his hands, hands which slowly began to shake. He shook the problem aside. It was simple anxiety, nothing more. He was Hordak, legendary genius scientist. If he could not explain a simple process, what would that say of him?

“Horde Prime arrived. He decided he did not want me in my form at the time, for I had failed him. I had become an abomination, he said. He took Glimmer and Catra.”

“Hordak?” she asked, her eyes wider now, her expression a bit softer.

“What?” he asked roughly.

“Is that all he did?”

“Of course not. He also unleashed his legions upon Etheria with the intent of conquering it. You would know that.”

“Hordak, what did he do to you?”

“It’s unimportant,” he said.

“Okay,” Adora said. “I know what it is. If you want to convince the jury, I need to be able to say exactly what happened.”

“Convince them of what?” asked Hordak.

“I need to convince them not to kill you.”

“Glimmer?” Hordak asked. “Glimmer wouldn’t kill me. It’s not in her nature.”

“I’m sure she won’t, Hordak, but the people of Bright Moon might.”

“They’re not savages,” he responded. “This is a technological backwater, but it’s not completely lacking in civility. It’s not a place where they would have me drawn and quartered.”

“Okay, fine,” Adora admitted, sighing. “They probably won’t kill you, but they’re going to want to see you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

“Well, for that, Bright Moon would need to build a prison.”

“Oh, and it sounds like Mermista’s coming straight for your head.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. In fact, Salineas on the whole doesn’t have a high public opinion of you now that they’ve started the rebuilding process.”

“I see their reasoning,” Hordak said.

“Mermista’s actually going to be the prosecution. Glimmer tried to explain that we weren’t sure she was licensed for that according to the laws, but she was persistent.”

“She said some rather rude things to Entrapta, to my recollection.”

“Mermista’s not perfect, but she’s a friend.”

“I see. You do not need to defend me against your friend.”

“No, I decided to do this.”

“I don’t see why,” Hordak said with all the bluster he could manifest. “You surely have better things to do than defend me in court.”

“Who else would you let defend you?” she asked. From her jacket, she pulled a small black device. Hordak recognized it as a recorder.

“Why give me a trial? We never had trials in the Horde, we just had me make decisions. Very simple.”

Adora stared at him for a couple seconds. She then looked down to the floor, eyes wide. Hordak took an awkward breath through his teeth. She pressed the button to begin recording.

“I get it now,” he said.

“Hordak, you need to convince a jury that you regret your actions, or you might never see the sun again.”

“I don’t need the sun,” he said. “My biology does not require me to receive solar radiation.”

“It’s a metaphor,” she responded.

“Oh. I understand now.”

“Listen, I need you to tell me what Horde Prime did to you when he arrived.”

Hordak cleared his throat. Even the thought nearly brought him to panic in an inexplicable fashion. It was routine to do as Prime had done unto him. It was as typical as anything he had ever endured under Prime’s care.

“Prime arrived. He called me an abomination. Took routine action to deal with rogue clones. Horde Prime took me by the neck, he held me in the air. He… plugged into me, so to speak. Used a cable to plug himself into the port on my neck, and then he wiped my mind. It was like…”

Silence. Grim silence, a grim expression. That was the information she needed, yet she still looked worried. How irrational of her. Her eyes remained wide, attentive to the conqueror who sat before her, who now slouched even more deeply on the futon. The cushions against his back were refreshing.

“What was it like?” she asked.

Hordak shook his head again. No, she had the information necessary, and she did not deserve to deal with the grisly details of all this. Besides, it was routine. Her beloved Catra had suffered the same fate, or at least one similar to it. Hordak was nothing _special_.

Catra, oh, Catra. He wanted to despise the child. Every part of him wanted to hate her, to scream of ending her life whenever her name approached his lips. Yet, he could not hate the child. Perhaps it was that he had softened in this time. Perhaps Entrapta’s words of forgiveness had truly gotten to him. Either way, despite the spiteful, venomous way she had treated Entrapta… he supposed he simply had to forgive her. Bygones, after all, were bygones. At the very least, that was how it seemed.

“Hordak?” asked Adora, her voice quiet. “What did it feel like?”

“Like daggers,” he said. “Like a thousand daggers piercing into my skull, and then like… repression. Like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pool, longing to float. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” she said. “Then what?”

“Then it was gone, but there was still that gnawing. It was an odd feeling, but it didn’t hurt at first. Then, though, then it was like a pounding. It grew and grew. Something wanted to break out, someone. I didn’t know who, I didn’t know why. I knew only the glory of Prime!”

“Go on,” she said.

“How much of this are you recording?” he asked.

“All of it,” she responded. “This is evidence.”

He sighed. It was heavy, harsh. Hordak clenched his fists, slouching further against the futon’s cushions until he felt as though he was covered in some inexplicably soft substance. He would need to analyze the materials used to make this.

“Then it went too far. Catra, she called me ‘Hordak’ and at the time, it was like it was bursting. I felt like any second my skull would run over. I could either choose to let those memories through, or I could repress them.”

“So that’s when you made the decision to turn on Prime?”

Hordak chuckled. He pressed his hands into the cushions. The conqueror heard the slow pattering of rain outside, pounding against the open window. He was about to rise to his feet, but Adora held out a hand. After a moment of hesitation, he rose anyways.

“I’m not a complete invalid,” Hordak said. “For all the evil Prime did, he repaired me. He used his technology to fix my body and restore me to health.”

“He didn’t fix you,” Adora said.

“No?” Hordak asked. “Then why am I stronger? Why am I faster? If Prime did not fix me, why am I _better_?”

“You’re not,” she said. “Prime made you physically more like himself. He didn’t fix you. He made you his definition of perfect when you saw yourself as imperfect.”

_Remember! Your imperfections are beautiful!_

The window creaked closed. The rain, however, had already struck the floor. It had left a puddle, a puddle which seemed to form. Outside struck lightning.

Hordak reeled away from the window with immediacy. Outside, the lightning. He could see his face in the reflection, an ever-present reminder of who he was. Born of nothing but the whims of a maddened narcissist. Such a crude creation he was for one based on pure perfection.

“I did not turn on Prime then, no. I chose to submit myself to purification. A brutal process.”

“Purification?”

“Prime puts you in a pool. He then shocks you. The pain makes your mind… pliable. Thus, while you are undergoing the ritual, Prime digs into your mind. He claws into it, and everything he does not want, he pushes down. He drowns it in the waters.”

“Inhumane,” she said.

“Inefficient,” responded Hordak. “It’s a blunt instrument where a scalpel is required. Why, if I were to keep one from their memories, I would use far more than simple torture.”

Adora glared at him again. For some reason, it was starting to irk him. At last, he sat back on the futon, placing an arm across it. He had grown familiar with this bit of furniture lately. Initially, he had laid upon the floor, but apparently it scared the guards. Unsurprising. Having the leader of the Horde, well, former leader, in their guest room was probably a disturbing experience.

“Yes, yes, I won’t torture anyone anymore. It’s immoral. Not that I could if I wanted to. Entrapta would be bothered, to say the least.”

“Hordak,” she said.

“Hm?”

“You have to stop being flippant. If you act this way in court, there will be a day of trial at most. Please, Hordak, I’m going out on a limb to even have this done. Glimmer just wanted to sentence you and be done with it.”

“I can hardly blame her,” he said. “After all, the last time she saw me I was guarding her cell. Her cell.”

Hordak looked at the walls. He supposed the room was nicer than anything Prime would throw someone into. Of course, the last time Prime had thrown Hordak somewhere, it had been here.

“I would like a more traditional cell, please.”

“What?” Adora asked, her face going somewhat red.

“A dingy prison cell. I would rather have that than this. This reminds me of Horde Prime’s domain.”

“We don’t have any prison cells.”

“What were you going to do if you captured me then?”

“I--! We--! You--!”

“Say what you will of me, but at least I’m prepared. Of course, Queen Angella was likely to execute me on the spot if I were brought in.”

“Have you ever met Angella?”

“Met her? No. Not since she was a mere child, but I did hear tell of her. They say she was so ruthless a commander she sent her own husband to die in battle.”

Adora’s face went white. She began to shake. Hordak squinted. Between the shaking and the pallor, he assumed he had made her upset. If he were to be honest, he was never sure with emotions. Never before had he needed to care for them, except with Entrapta. Now, was he to treat them all as he treated her?

“Angella was a brave woman. She gave her life to save mine.”

“I am sorry. I would not have spoken so harshly had I known it would offend you.”

“Angella told me, she told me before she left to ‘take care of each other’ and I’m going to assume that applies to you too. This is a massive chance I’m taking with you, Hordak.”

“You’re right, I suppose. Thank you? I believe that is what I am to say here?”

“Anyways,” Adora said awkwardly.

“Anyways,” repeated Hordak.

He had rarely repeated words before. It was a new habit he seemed to be adopting ever since he broke free of Prime’s control. It was as though his mind was moving slower, slightly slower, every day. Now, he needed to fight hard to process words sometimes. Entrapta could check it out. She would have fixed it if she were here.

He supposed it was simply an adaptation to the loss of Prime. Still, his eyes remained green, his hair remained white. He supposed that was natural. He had, after all, dyed his hair a dark blue, bordering on black. In fact, he had tailored his appearance.

“There have been assertions about your relationship with Entrapta while she served under you.”

“Entrapta did not serve _under_ me,” Hordak corrected. “Entrapta was my trusted partner. She is the smartest person I have ever met.”

“Some people have said, and I doubt it, but I have to be sure, that it was predatory in nature.”

“Predatory? As in, I attempted to consume her? They are aware I was feeding myself through tubes, correct?”

Adora blushed. “Predatory as in, um, well, as in, uh…”

She assumed a deeper voice.

“In a manner involving contact not befitting one so high in status.”

Hordak looked toward her, eyes wide. His mouth opened, his jaw dropping at this revelation. He dug his claws into the cushion.

And then he laughed.

The conqueror cackled madly, tearing apart the cushion. Adora looked at him, her eye twitching slightly as his laugh ascended in pitch to a complete cackle. He stomped upon the clean floor, and with a kick of his leg against it, knocked over the futon. She backed away slightly.

Adora awkwardly chuckled. Hordak grabbed his abdomen and coughed several times through his laughter. At last, he placed his hand upon the floor and rose to his feet. Slowly, he began to readjust the futon.

“You mean… oh, I didn’t expect _this_ , this is simply _precious_. You and your allies think I wanted to _reproduce_ with Entrapta, didn’t you?”

“I’m going to guess from that laugh, which was definitely a bad laugh, that you didn’t?”

His expression turned completely stern. “ _No_.”

“So what will I say if it’s brought up to the court.”

“Tell them that they have no proof! Entrapta herself would say the same. We were equal in standing, and there was no inappropriate contact. We worked on scientific projects together. She was my friend.”

_I made a friend. I am Hordak, and I defy your will!_

“Sorry,” she said, scratching at her neck gently, her face red as a tomato.

“Don’t apologize. It is good to bring up the allegations I will face.”

“What was it like?” she asked.

“What was what like?” he asked her, finally moving the futon back to its proper place.

“Having a friend while you led the Horde. I don’t get that part.”

“Is this on the record or off?” asked Hordak.

“Off,” she said, pushing the button on her device.

“ _Exhilarating_ ,” he said. “The way she held me like I was worth holding. What she told me, what she had always told me. She helped me. It was refreshing, in a way, to have someone who didn’t want power and wasn’t scared away by me because I was an abomination.”

“What kept you from losing yourself on Prime’s ship? Was it her?”

“Yes. Her, and this. I’m not sure how she got it. It must have been from Imp.”

With that, the conqueror reached into his dress’s pocket, and revealed the crystal. It was so beautiful, resplendent and shining as it always did. First Ones writing was upon it, and he smiled as he saw himself reflected in it. Every time he looked into it, he could see her. He tapped his fingers against its surface.

Adora extended a hand. Hordak hesitantly handed her the crystal. She looked at it up and down, and then blushed and snickered. Hordak tilted his head slightly. Looking down at the cushion, he realized he had practically shredded it.

“I believe I killed the futon,” he said, in a desperate attempt to introduce levity to his vandalism.

“We’ve all been there,” Adora said. “I’ve got something more important for you.”

“Do tell.”

“Can you read the writing on this?”

“Regrettably, no. I considered it a curiosity, but Prime detested the First Ones and I felt as though learning would betray him.”

“It says L-U-V-D.”

“Hm.”

“It says ‘loved,’ Hordak.”

“ _Loved_?”

Hordak could feel the heat across his face. He was blushing profusely, his ears drooping. The conqueror backed away from the futon, fiddling with his hands. _Loved_. This was an intriguing discovery, he supposed.

“You alright, Hordak?” she asked, trying to conceal her slight snickering.

“It is nothing,” he said. “I am simply experiencing a physiological response to this discovery.”

“You’re blushing.”

“So I am.”

“Oh! You’re in love with her?”

“Hmph.”

“Alright, that’s not an answer, but whatever. Aren’t you like a thousand years old?”

Hordak turned to her, squinting. He moved a hand to his forehead, and covered his eyes. Now this would be complex to explain, to say the least.

“So, my people do not experience age as yours do. Horde Prime stagnates our age at production.”

“So, wait, you don’t age at all? You don’t get older?”

“No.”

“That’s weird.”

“Alright. Well, I suppose it’s not my business what Entrapta wants to do. Do you think she knew?”

“You are the only one among us who can read First Ones writing.”

“Alright. Tomorrow, we begin the preliminaries for the hearing. I’m not officially a lawyer according to the law, but considering I saved Etheria, I thought I could pull a few favors.”

Hordak placed his hands beside his back as he rose from the futon. He supposed he would have to alert the guards as politely as possible. Hopefully, they would not panic and assume he had attempted to assault the savior of Etheria. The conqueror turned his back to Adora, and looked to the window, the rain intensifying as he saw his reflection faintly.

“She-Ra,” he said. “Adora. A-Adora.”

“Yes?”

“I do not believe I would have anyone else as my defense.”

Even fainter than his reflection was hers. She looked dumbfounded, as if she were shocked completely by something that resembled a compliment from the leader of the Horde. Hordak simply sneered, the blush having faded from his face. Adora tossed the crystal into the air, and Hordak caught it without even looking.

“Get out.”

“Yes, Lordak. I mean, Lord Hordak. I mean, uh, defendant.”

The door shut behind him. He supposed he could wait to indicate to the guards what had happened. After all, something about them did put him off. Perhaps it was the remnants of Horde Prime that stained this place.

As a matter of fact, it made sense Prime would keep Bright Moon intact. It was clean, almost advanced, pure. It was a beacon of civilization in a technological backwater. Hordak, at last alone, looked upon his hands. He could remember the first time he had seen them. For once, Hordak could remember everything.

It had been so long ago that he had been produced. Not a simple clone, no. The fellow clones, scientifically-oriented, had told Prime repeatedly that he was defective, that he was going to fall apart. Prime denied their assertions. He had them submitted to purification. Then, he had the science division eliminated so that none would question him.

So that none would defy his will.

Hordak was tempted to chuckle. Sometimes, little things such as that brought about the downfall of dictators. True, Prime had spared him, but the only reason he had been spared was to spite the science division, a science division that Prime did not permit existence after the fact. Even his moments of kindness were driven solely by self-interest.

Hordak did wonder why sometimes. Why was it that Prime was able to do what he could not? For any other man, it should have been pure misery. He kept himself away from personal connection, treated all others as less than he. It should have been nothing but constant loneliness and pain, yet Prime did it all with a smile and a laugh.

If only Hordak could have been like him, he would have conquered Etheria. Unfortunately, he requested that the Etherian Horde minimize casualties with consistency. To destroy homes, to drive people from them, that was quite alright. To murder entirely without remorse, however, had been something even he could not do. He had seen so many perish.

Hordak had proven himself the most effective clone Prime had ever seen. In fact, it was his very failure that compelled Prime to retire his tactical division as well. Well, “tactical division” was a significant overstatement. It was more like Hordak and Prime, devising and sketching out battle plans. Hordak had once been a man of power, one who could wipe out a civilization with a thought.

Yet, he had always felt a sickening churning when he watched them fall. Prime rewarded him with praise and fortune, but it did not change the reality that he had willingly taken part. Hordak’s methods had grown increasingly merciful. First, it went from slow, cruel starvation and annihilation to quick deaths. Then, from annihilation to enslavement, though he hardly considered that a greater mercy, thus the invention of chips as a method to try and avoid misery, though Prime engineered his way around that as well. Then, he began to try and convince Prime to bargain. They feared him.

It was their fault that they had courage, or so he had thought. He had tried to avoid that sickening feeling. The horror of a conscience. It was strange; unlike Prime, Hordak did not _like_ seeing inferiors squabble and crumble.

It turned out his “conscience” was in fact proof of biological degradation. He was splitting from the Horde’s neural network. So, there was no attempted treatment. Prime considered him an affront. His eyes went red, he split from the network, his mind wiped. He was sent to the front lines to die in combat.

It was simple fortune that a portal had brought him to Etheria, yet once again that bit of sadism was Prime’s undoing. Horde Prime chose not to give Hordak a quick and merciful death, melt him to life force and let it be complete. No, he had wanted to have the defect die in battle to reaffirm his power.

If only Prime had known that very defect was what made him such an effective general. No, not the physiological part, that was merely an imperfection. If Hordak had been connected to the neural network as the others were, he never could have crafted a plan for himself.

The conqueror looked into the window. There was some semblance of glory days to it. How unusual for such terrible times. It seemed Hordak simply liked prestige.

It was all too perfect. This window, the way he was not even warped. The way he appeared perfect. In fact, other than the eyes, eyes Prime had taken from Hordak’s brethren so he could watch the world even as he violated his subjects’ minds, Hordak looked almost identical to the emperor. He was just the same.

Unfortunately for the window, that meant he had the very same strength.

It merely took a blow to shatter it. Hordak felt the cold rain spray upon his form, and recoiled, falling to the floor. The clap of thunder exploded in his eardrums, and he grabbed the clean, perfect marble floor. A few scratches dug into it, and he scrambled away from the window.

“Guards,” he whimpered.

In the thunder, he could hear the chanting. He could hear them speaking the divine words once more. His body shook, and the rain seemed to follow him. He scrambled to the back of the futon, placing his back against it. His breathing was erratic, eye movement quick and violent. At last, the rain ceased to pour upon him. The conqueror took a moment to regain his thoughts. A few deep breaths, and he was back into his typical state.

Hordak rose to his feet, puffing his chest out. His dress billowed in the cold wind, a few drops of rain splashing across his arm. He could not help but shiver a little.

The Fright Zone had always been smoldering in temperature. It had been polluted, constantly occupied by machinery and smoke. Now, nature unleashed itself upon Bright Moon. It reminded Hordak of exactly why he had chosen to taint the land as he had. At least the Fright Zone hadn’t forced him to deal with _this_.

The ship, however, Prime’s ship. The crown of the armada had a mighty ship, most certainly, and it was conditioned to perfect temperature. At worst, there was in fact a slight chill. It correlated itself to the biochemistry of Prime, and thus its temperature was consistently cool. However, the conqueror preferred heat to cold anytime.

There were many things to say of the Fright Zone, but it being too cold was not among them. Hordak had hated the cold ever since he had come upon Etheria. Perhaps that was why he had chosen to save that child; in fact, it made sense that he was motivated entirely by his own fear of the elements.

Prime was, to be blunt, not the most intellectual of his people. In honesty, if Hordak had the sort of ego he could have had, he would have turned all of the Fright Zone to sweltering heat… which he had. Nonetheless, he would have mistreated his underlings, which he… also had.

Unusual.

In his left hand, Hordak still held the crystal. Looking upon it, he grew flustered once again. She was not here, and what would she say if she was? Surely she would remind him of his beauty, the beauty she beheld in him. Truth be told, Hordak had always thought himself an unhealthy specimen.

Then his thoughts drifted to Prime once again. It was as though every time he wanted to think of something else, Prime’s dastardly and divine qualities alike intruded into his mental state. The conqueror tucked the crystal away in the pocket on his chest, and wondered whether Prime would have ever come for him if not for the activation of the Heart.

Prime lived in fear. That occurred to Hordak only now, looking at the shattered glass in his vision. Every day, Prime knew that his most effective tactician only had his power due to a lack of Prime’s influence. That made Hordak smile so slightly. Odd. It was so unique for the conqueror to taste pleasure in Prime’s pain.

Of course Prime had come for him; Horde Prime was a maniacal narcissist, a fanatical being. He was obsessed with proving he was perfect. The knowledge that one such as Hordak, one who hadn’t even done anything, the knowledge that scared him? It illuminated just how pathetic the corrupted Brother was.

“Of course,” he said, muttering as the futon tipped and fell against the floor.

On the note of pathetic things, the conqueror now recalled that he would need to ask that the window be repaired, lest the rain reach him. It seemed that without a long-term goal, he was losing control of his more base impulses. He imagined it would be cathartic for them to see their opponent plead that they repair his window. He supposed he just wouldn’t let it slip how the rain made him feel.

The thunder clapped again, and in it, he heard the chanting. Hordak wrapped his arms around himself, longing for further clothing. He was cold; illogical. How could he be cold in here? It was not a cold night in spite of the storm, and the water no longer touched him. It no longer grasped at him with its probing hands, with its smooth voice and cruel acts.

Hordak took a second to realize he was not only talking about the water. He shuddered. This was not something that had occurred to him before, yet still did the water chant mockingly.

The conqueror reached the door, and knocked against the wall. The door opened, running over his eyes with bright light. He covered his eyes, and then the doorway was taken up by a guard in a long white robe. Hordak backed away quickly once more, barely keeping his footing. It was as though this sensory act was beginning a process of conquering him.

Regaining his stance, Hordak placed his hands behind his back. He stood before the guard tall, face to face. The guard looked unto him, their eyes covered by a small silver mask. Hordak cleared his throat.

“I appear to have broken the window and ruined the cushions on my futon.”

The guard looked at the futon, then at the window. They then looked back to Hordak. The conqueror clasped his hands behind his back.

“Well?” he asked. “Is there nobody you will tell?”

The guard spoke in a quiet, gentle voice. “Of course not,” they said. “Why should I care about your living conditions? You tortured the ruler of Bright Moon. You led a war that hurt countless people, _killed_ people.”

“I am quite sure that Queen Glimmer, in her generosity, would have my window repaired and my furniture replaced.”

“I’m not Queen Glimmer, and I doubt you’ll get to talk to her.”

Hordak looked at them rather skeptically. “I am sorry. The justice of Bright Moon is known for its generosity. Perhaps I was ill in assumption that I could break my room as I pleased. I do not even care about the futon. I merely would like my window repaired.”

The guard lurched forth. Hordak, despite the chill, stood firm. The guard got close to his face, far too close, and Hordak could feel their breath against him. He kept his hands restrained behind his back. This was not the Fright Zone, he reminded himself. He had no authority here.

“Bright Moon’s justice is generous. I am not.”

“You do realize I can wait for a shift change, correct?” asked Hordak. “You accomplish nothing by doing this.”

“Another minute more of misery is an accomplishment, ‘Lord Hordak.’ Let’s be clear. I don’t care what bias She-Ra has toward you. You ran my family out of our home.”

Hordak looked upon her. He knew all he had to say. Even if it were not effective, it would be generous. It would sound good for a jury, endear him to the people. All he had to do was say those two words.

He opened his mouth. Unfortunately for the guard, they made the ill choice to poke his chest. The conqueror, already not overjoyed by the circumstances, grabbed them by the robe.

The guard gasped as Hordak held them tight, pulling at the top of their robe. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his vision. All he needed was to put his hands around their neck.

Again, he reminded himself he was not in the Fright Zone. Even then, he _despised_ touching the Etherians. It was disgusting; why would anyone touch another when they had an option not to? Clearly, there were exceptions. The conqueror stared the guard’s helmet down. He could not see their eyes, but he did not need to see their eyes to sense _fear_.

With that, Hordak let them go. They rubbed at their shoulders, and the conqueror turned away from them. “At the very least, request that they repair the window,” he said. “Now?”

The light faded. The guard was already gone. Hordak sighed. He looked at his hands. They trembled.

It was all so much _easier_ back in the Fright Zone, after all. Here, he needed a modicum of politeness to get anything. His meals were minimal, which was to say that they were bowls of soup. He was inclined to admit that while they were superior in craftsmanship and taste to Entrapta’s soups, for she was an experienced scientist and mechanic rather than an experienced chef, they lacked that quality that made it so nice. That… he wanted to say coziness? An odd descriptor. Hordak had never been a “cozy” person.

Obviously, the meals being minimal was not a point of cruelty. As Hordak took his seat on the torn futon, the stuffing against his back, he could hear the rain behind him. It would be impossible to sleep, which would render him irritable, and if he were irritable, he would be incapable of handling himself in court.

The conqueror sprawled himself upon the futon, spreading his arms. He chuckled. He had chuckled so rarely in the Horde. Perhaps that was a benefit of all this.

Still, the resounding choir of voices was gone. Perhaps that was all he had needed, an affirmation to himself of his power. Something about the entire affair sickened him, but it was not the moral implications. No, it was simply that he could not hear them.

Hordak sighed at last. He was thinking of words to send Entrapta in a letter. Never before had he needed eloquence to do his work for him, yet here he sat. He would need to tell her of the court’s affairs. She was, of course, hard at work. As the conqueror ran his clawed fingers against the back of the futon, he heard a faint whispering in the rain. Jolting upward, he looked out the broken window.

There was something in the distance, faint like pinpricks. Four small dots, glowing bright green. Hordak supposed he would ask someone to check on his mind. Who, however, could he ask to provide him aid? He knew none that could help, none but Adora. In spite of all her power, he assumed she could not peer into his mind.

Surely Hordak was going mad, but if he told anyone, the trial would cease. The conqueror settled back in, clasping his hands upon his chest. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Or, at least they would be if not for a knock on the accursed door. Hordak, beleaguered already with exhaustion, arrived at the door with haste, and opened it. Who in Etheria would knock on the door?

He supposed it should not have been shocking that whoever had knocked was already gone. At the door was an envelope. It was a small, yellow envelope marked with a wax seal on the front. The conqueror cut open the envelope from the bottom with a stroke of his finger as he shut the door. Wandering back to the futon, he crossed his legs and opened the letter.

_Hey, Hordak._

Well, it was clear who had sent the note.

_Listen, I just sent this to tell you I won’t be showing up at your stupid trial._

Ah, how charming. It seemed Catra had some level of concern for him. Misplaced concern, most certainly. He was not entirely sure he had forgiven the girl for what she had done to Entrapta. After all, Beast Island was, according to the reports he had read before they had “locked him up” so to speak, a place beyond mortal comprehension. Entrapta had spoken of horrors which could be best defined as ghastly. To think he sent people there as a method of simple exile.

_Adora and I talked it over, and we decided it’s best that I don’t show. She said something along the lines of “I would be careful, he very well might murder you on the spot. He seemed kinda mad.”_

Hordak would like to definitively state that he would not, but he could not assure anyone of that fact. Catra, although he did not hate her as he would like to, still irked the conqueror. Surely, they were kindred spirits, but it did cut him that they would put him on trial when she had been the one spearheading much of the invasion. Still, he supposed he had led the Horde for far longer; Catra had committed things most Etherians considered vicious and cruel, but she had been raised under Shadow Weaver, who herself had served as a Force Captain for Hordak himself. He supposed that, in the end, he was most responsible amongst the Etherian Horde.

_Anyways, I thought I ought to tell you that. I think the whole thing’s a sham, we both know Mermista’s gonna use this to vent about Salineas again. I mean, I was there too, but you were the one with the big laser and everything. Look, I don’t know, Hordak, she blames you._

Of course she blamed him! He had fired the first shot, it had been his operation. It was logical.

_I don’t know what you’re gonna deal with in there, but I want you to know that even if we haven’t gotten along in the past (And oh, boy, have we not) I get it. I’m on your side here, for the most part._

_Give ‘em hell, Hordak._

The conqueror could not help but smile at that. Perhaps she simply lied; Catra did that quite a bit, as he recalled. Maybe she was hedging her bets so that he wouldn’t come for her on the off chance he was let free.

Still, as he gently folded the letter back into shape, Hordak hoped she truly was on his side. It was a time to repair broken bonds and broken hearts. Perhaps Catra had let bygones be bygones. Perhaps he should do the same.

The rain had gone from nightmarish to soothing, thanks to the sounds of thunder disappearing. The conqueror took a moment, and looked out the window once more. There was no sign of the green dots in the distance. Surely, he had hallucinated them. He was tired, after all, and not entirely sound, mentally.

Hordak did suppose, however, that it was better to be alone at this moment. He had so many thoughts, and a need to process them. He shut his eyes.

Hordak slept. For the first time in his life, he dreamed. He dreamed of Entrapta, of long, warm nights holding her. Hordak dreamed of freedom.


	2. Who Overcomes By Force

Sometimes, Hordak would admit he did not wish to be in the sun.

Not only did his biology not require him to receive solar radiation to live, he found the rays irritating to his skin. He was admittedly worried that he would be somehow burned by it, although he knew factually that was impossible. The conqueror was not afraid of the sun, not as he was of thunder, but he was inclined to admit he did not like it all the same.

Adora was rambling on about something, something about how if he intimidated another of the guards, he would never manage to convince the jury. Of course, Hordak could hardly listen. The guard had apparently quit entirely, which he supposed was good news. It didn’t hurt that they were repairing his window, although they had vowed _not_ to replace his futon. Ah, such a bloodthirsty people, these Etherians.

“Hordak. Hordak, are you listening?”

“Hm.”

“Hordak, that’s not an answer.”

“No.”

“I…”

Hordak turned to her and sighed. She spoke again.

“I’m worried, Hordak. I won’t pretend I’m not worried. These people are going to want you to face a very harsh sentence.”

“As they very well should. According to my research on Etherian justice, I have committed what you would call several ‘war crimes.’ I would likely be harshly sentenced.”

“Right, but you were under Prime’s influence. You didn’t _want_ to do any of that.”

“I didn’t?” he asked, narrowing a single eye as he looked at her.

“Right?”

Hordak placed his hands behind his back. “Hm.”

It was not long before he was sat down on a nearby bench in the pristine, golden hallway. The sun was shining upon him through a broken window, one still broken even since the invasion of Prime. Adora sat beside him, awkwardly shaking her head and muttering under her breath. The conqueror, however, merely clasped his hands. It was a habit he had gotten into recently, a habit of clasping his hands when he grew nervous. Why he was nervous now, he hardly knew.

“Hordak, I need you to take this very, very seriously. This is the preliminary hearing for your trial, whatever that means. Look, you could end up exiled.”

“Why would I want to remain in Bright Moon? The remnants of the Fright Zone are overrun with greenery from what I hear. It seems you’ve had some development on that front in this place as well.”

“Because in Bright Moon, you might have access to scientific tools beyond imagining, seeing as Prime had your remaining research put in the city.”

“Prime had my research put in this city?”

“Your _remaining_ research. You did trash the entire sanctum, and about half of the Fright Zone when you tried to, well, you know…”

“When I tried to end Catra’s existence.”

“Do you really have to phrase it like that?”

“Is… is there a better way to phrase it?”

Adora took a moment and looked at him in wide-eyed shock. At last, she sighed. The young woman seemed as though she were at a loss for words, something the conqueror had hardly known her to be. As long as he had been “imprisoned” in Bright Moon, Adora had been a most verbose sort.

“Alright, so here’s the thing. While you’ve been here, you’ve broken our things. You’ve intimidated one of the guards into leaving. You’ve acted like your haughty self, exactly like you did in the Horde.”

“Well, of--”

“No, not ‘well, of course!’ That is not how you respond to this, Hordak! You’re not _in_ the Horde anymore, certainly not its leader. These are people who will be foaming at the mouth to see punishment upon the one who started all this, and the way they see it, that’s you. Bright Moon’s population has mostly been charitable, but Salineas, the Sea Elves, Perfuma…”

“The flowery child is irate with me?”

“Everyone’s irate with you, Hordak. Everyone but me and Entrapta. You were the one who took down Prime--”

“ _Killed_ Prime. Let’s phrase it as it is.”

“Hordak, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep brushing it off like it’s nothing. You hurt a lot of people, destroyed a lot of homes. Do you even process the fact you’ve killed people?”

“I’ve only taken one life personally. The rest of it has been intimidation.”

“And how many people have you sent to Beast Island, Hordak?”

“I… I don’t recall.”

“As in, you didn’t do it often or you did it so many times you can’t remember, Hordak?”

“Beast Island was a last resort. I used it on particularly treacherous underlings. You would agree with me that it is a fitting fate for one such as Shadow Weaver.”

“ _No_. You don’t _get_ to throw this at Shadow Weaver. You don’t get to argue that it ‘wasn’t that bad’ because it _was_. Nobody deserved that sort of thing. Do you think your robots just didn’t take lives, Hordak?”

“I had them programmed specifically not to kill. In fact, I equipped Horde soldiers with stun batons for that exact reason.”

“Those sweeps across kingdoms with that laser cannon, the one that can slice through everything. You think nobody was in the way of that, Hordak?”

“I… admit that I may have been shortsighted.”

“Try ‘lacking in empathy.’ You did the bare minimum to keep people from dying in a conquest of the world. You sparked a war, Hordak. Did you think people wouldn’t die?”

“I wanted Prime to come for me. I thought I’d be gone. I thought I’d conquer a kingdom or so and Prime would find me. Then I thought I’d conquer a few and Prime would find me. Then, I decided it had to be Etheria. I thought it would be necessary, that Prime would be merciful to his subjects.”

“Why in the world would you assume that, Hordak?”

“In retrospect, it was not my best decision.”

Hordak found himself looking onward blankly as he heard Adora growl. His eyes widened slightly, and flickered back and forth. He supposed this was unfortunate, his demeanor. It was best defined as authoritative.

“Alright,” she said, huffing out a breath. “Hordak, please listen to me. I don’t blame you. I watched the woman I love try and wipe out Etheria, try and destroy reality as we know it. I know what can happen to a person, what can drive them to things like this. Please, though. You cannot act like this in front of the court. They look at you, and they see a face of evil, the face of the man who destroyed their homes and, and, for some of them, killed their families.”

Hordak looked at his hands. He had never seen himself as a murderer before. Even at worst, all he did was exile people.

Exile them to Beast Island, a place full of horrors. Now, he knew they were horrors even more ghastly than he had presumed. A place which preyed on the insecurities, on the fears of a person. He would despise being sent to that place, a world of shadows pulling in and out and tearing at your flesh; Hordak could hardly even comprehend such an island.

Not to mention he had sent Catra to starve in the Crimson Waste. Hm. It seemed that these things were harder to look at as non-lethal when given hindsight.

He supposed he was a murderer. That was never how he had seen himself; Hordak had been a conqueror, certainly, a cold-blooded scoundrel perhaps. Murderer, however, had never been what he had seen. Even through defiled forests and annihilated flowers, Hordak had never seen blood on his hands.

Even back then, he had never truly seen what he had done as murder. Prime decreed it; it was Prime’s will. To challenge Prime was to challenge his faith itself, and to question his every word.

“I didn’t realize,” Hordak said.  
There was a slight sinking feeling in his stomach. That wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was that it was only a _slight_ sinking feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Adora said.

“Do not apologize,” Hordak said, clasping his hands tightly. “You spoke only the truth.”

It was then that the stomping of boots down the hall rang out. Adora rose to her feet with utter immediacy, and Hordak followed her in confusion. A murderer.

The boots, of course, belonged to a set of people in multicolor cloaks. Refugees, surely, or perhaps travelers from the stars. Adora had unfortunately taken time from being a diplomatic envoy to alien species so as to defend Hordak, something the murderer would never understand.

Ugh. It was so unpleasant a word. He wished to cleanse himself of it with great efficiency.

One of the cloaked ones, however, was wearing a white, hooded cloak, completely blank of wear and tear, of markings. They wore a mask, a blank white mask, concealing their face. Hordak felt uneasy as their concealed eyes rested upon him, as though Prime himself had returned from the grave. They matched him in height exactly as they walked past him. Hordak could feel his blood freeze over.

Oh, no.

Hordak did not merely have opposition on Etheria. It was with certainty he believed other species from the stars would come to claim his life. There were so many people Prime had oppressed. Etheria was a forgiving place, but what of the rest of the universe? It was only fortunate that the enemy which came from the distant planets would not have known of their location in Despondos.

That did little to ease his thoughts. Hordak, he could surely fight off anything which came from the far reaches of the galaxy, but what of the rest of Etheria? Surely his mere presence would be a threat to the rest of them.

Exile.

They did not speak of exile from Bright Moon when those words were whispered in their hush tones. No, they spoke of things ten times as cruel. Entrapta, as she was, would go alongside him, would she not? She loved the stars.  
Yet, her friends were here. Her base of research was here, and she had already been to the stars. Hordak had nothing new to offer her. If he were sent from Etheria, cast away from its backwater surfaces, he would face another sort of nightmare. No, he could not take Entrapta with him; he would not expose his friend to such danger.

Never again would he look into her bright eyes, and never again would he hold her warm hands. Hordak would not get within a hairsbreadth of a life alongside her, her hair wrapped around him lovingly. No, if Hordak were sent away, his own life would be far more over than hers. She had things left on Etheria, but out there amongst the nightmarish stars, Hordak had nothing.

It was only _now_ that these things impressed themselves upon him! They would not sentence him directly to death, but it was effectively a death sentence if they sent him out there. The court would not realize it, and he surely would not tell them, for they would not listen. Hordak, the conqueror, would be exiled to his own personal Beast Island, a place far more terrifying than any part of Etheria could ever be.

The refugees were long passed. Adora checked a small device on her wrist, and grabbed Hordak by the arm. Reflexively, the murderer leapt back, wresting his arm from hers. After a few seconds, he merely rubbed his arm awkwardly.

“We need to go,” she said.

“Alright.”

The murderer and the hero set off in the direction of the courtroom. By “courtroom” they actually meant the royal hall, which, according to Adora, had several pieces of furniture awkwardly placed throughout. Hordak had never seen a trial before, much less participated in one; it was fortunate the people of Bright Moon were likely the same.

Apparently, according to a report he had gotten in the guest room, Glimmer was thinking of disbanding the monarchy almost entirely. Either way, Hordak was sure her mother would be proud. It was almost funny to think about, though. Between him, Catra, and Glimmer, the ones upon Prime’s ship, he was the only one to never risk the outright destruction of Etheria.

That frustrated the murderer further. These two, this duo, they both had risked more lives than he ever had. In all the time he had stood upon Etheria, he had never risked the demolition of the planet itself. Why was it Glimmer sat upon a throne while he stood trial?

He had to remind himself not to think in such a prideful manner. After all, were their positions reversed, Hordak would not have the generosity to give the child a trial. He supposed Glimmer was being merciful to him, something he was apparently meant to reflect.

At last, the courtroom. Indeed, it was a mess of things, merely designed to look as though it were a formal place of legal decision. To the upper left, the seat of the defense, marked with a wooden desk. To the right, directly across, the seat of the prosecution, marked with an identical desk. Mermista was sitting there, a book in her hand, Sea Hawk chattering as she ignored him almost casually. To the lower right, there was a witness stand, a small microphone even upon its metal desk for the witnesses to speak in. The lower left, populated by about seventy chairs, all empty except for ten guards in the final row.

Then came the throne. Glimmer sat upon it, her arms crossed. Bow, meanwhile, was modifying a tracker pad. As if to cement his role, a guard in a white robe walked by and slammed a pair of steel cuffs upon Hordak’s wrists. He looked down at his arms for a couple seconds, and sighed.

Adora guided him gently to his seat, a small chair behind hers. A cool breeze blew through an open window, causing his dress to billow. He gently placed his cuffed hands upon his lap, and looked around the room. Glimmer blew her hair from her face, and Bow handed her a small tablet. She fiddled with the screen for a moment.

Adora, meanwhile, wandered toward Mermista. “Another _Mer-Mystery_?” she asked, placing her hand upon the desk. Mermista displayed to her the title, and her eyes widened. There was a profane rant under the savior’s breath, and she walked back to the seat.

“Alright, we have a problem. Mermista is reading legal books.”

“Legal books? I was unaware Bright Moon had the level of political censorship that would render some books _illegal_.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“...Would you believe me if I said it was?”

Adora sighed. “Mermista has, over the course of about four days, become an extremely experienced ‘law-yer.’ Sorry, I had that down yesterday, still working on my enunciation.”

Hordak blinked several times, and sighed. He nearly slammed his face against the desk, although it was unfortunately a couple feet away. Thus, he instead simply hung his head right next to his hands.

Outside, a slight commotion. A guard dragged a figure with a white hooded cloak across the hall. A different guard, on the other hand, shut the doors. Hordak had only gotten a glimpse, but that glimpse had chilled him to his very core.

Now, Glimmer cracked her knuckles. Bow patted the hair on her head down slightly, and she donned a golden crown. The youthful Queen Glimmer rose to her feet, grabbing the tablet from her throne. Adora went silent, and Mermista set down her book.

“We are gathered here today in the preliminaries. Today, we establish the rules of the trial, and we will discuss the fate of the court. According to my mother’s law books, we… Bow, are you okay?”

Bow, meanwhile, was currently doing several situps. “Okay,” he said awkwardly. “In my defense, I just got a look at Hordak, and he got seriously jacked over the last couple months. I’ve gotta double the workout routine.”

“Don’t bother,” Hordak responded. “I look this way due to genetic recomposition. Trust me, I doubt I’ll look this way for long.”

“What’s genetic recomposition? Can I do it?”

“Do you want your very structure rewritten?” Hordak asked rhetorically.

“Yes?”

“No. No, you don’t.”

“No?”

Hordak looked at his bound hands. The murderer wondered why they would even bother with such a sham of a trial. The people surely thought him guilty, and he was unsure they were wrong to hold such beliefs.

Glimmer cleared her throat, and they both fell silent. Sea Hawk awkwardly slunk from the room, and out the door. At last, they were alone.  
“Here are the laws, as dictated. We will call witnesses to the stand, one by one. They will give their statements to the jury. Now, I’m not exactly sure what was written in these things, but the short version is that the jury decides your sentence. I’m seriously rethinking that idea, but I mean, nothing I can do about it right now.”

“The prosecution will be asking questions?” asked Mermista, kicking her feet up on the desk.

“Yes,” Glimmer responded. “The prosecution will ask the witnesses questions first, then the defense.”

“This book doesn’t say anything about the defense getting questions.”

“I’m sorry, Mermista, are _you_ Queen of Bright Moon?”

“Maybe,” Mermista grumbled.

Hordak was beginning to wonder if a suffocation machine would be a mercy.

Bow, meanwhile, was intensifying his workout routine even further, doing pull-ups using Glimmer’s throne. Glimmer simply looked back at him, and then attempted to ignore him. It seemed the archer had grown somewhat restless. Hordak could find sympathy in that sentiment.

“Anyways,” Glimmer said, awkwardly looking back at Bow again. “Anyways, once the witness’s statement is over, and all of them will be recorded to be played for the jury again on request, there will be another witness.”

“So, when do we get to get rid of the creep?” Mermista asked.

“ _If_ you get rid of Hordak, it would be when the jury comes to a decision.”

“So, like, we’re leaving the fate of the worst murderer in Etheria to the masses?”

“Masses,” Hordak repeated. What an intriguing thought. The idea of the people of Etheria deciding his fate.

“Yes?” Glimmer asked, glaring at Hordak so intensely that he genuinely feared that he may be set aflame.

“Nothing,” he said.  
“Mermista,” Adora said. “I know you’re mad about Salineas and all, but Hordak saved Etheria.”

“Hordak did save Etheria,” she said. “I’ll concede that. Doesn’t absolve him of what he did.”

“Hordak was conditioned by Horde Prime to be a killer!” Adora exclaimed.

“He’s pretty good at it,” Mermista retorted. “Bet big bro was pretty proud of him.”

Hordak’s eyes flickered to Adora, asking permission. She shook her head, but he got up anyways. The guards extended their spears, and Adora turned and held a hand out to them. The murderer walked casually across the polished floor to the desk of the prosecution.

Mermista barely looked up at him. She instead opened the book calmly. Glimmer’s hand began to sparkle, almost angrily. The murderer found it a bit humorous; surprising, considering how few things he considered outright humorous. Her glare, however, was once more the deadliest thing she had on display.

Ignoring it, Hordak turned to Mermista, staring down at her. She looked up at last, closing the book and slamming it down on the desk. Adora slowly and cautiously approached from behind.

“You gonna say something, creep?” asked Mermista.

There was a moment of decision. This would certainly not sell his image. It would, however, satisfy him.

With barely even a grunt of effort, Hordak flexed his muscles. Bow looked on in envy and admiration simultaneously. The cuffs of shining steel snapped in half. The murderer looked at Mermista, and took some sadistic enjoyment out of the way she slowly slid her chair backwards.

“Hordak!” Adora exclaimed.

Hordak turned to her, and shrugged, calmly and politely walking back to the chair. Mermista, though she concealed it, was shaken in certainty. All it took was the slightest reminder of his strength.

Admittedly, Hordak knew better than to assume he truly stood a chance in a fight against a trained Princess, even in his current state. However, in the time it would take Mermista to summon water from outside, he would have already beaten a hasty retreat. No matter the valor of any, there was a time to retreat, and when facing an enraged Mermista, that time amounted to being as soon as possible.

Still, the look on her face was almost a victory unto itself.

Hordak would admit that in entirety, it was an act of pettiness. It was merely for his own amusement. There was no deeper motive. This was simply the mentality of a spiteful child brought to the forefront of the murderer’s actions.

“If you are finished intimidating the prosecution,” Glimmer said. “We have work to do.”

Hordak sat back down, his hands on his chin. The murderer looked at Mermista, who continued to shake. Perhaps he had been a bit too cruel to the Princess indeed.

However, he was shocked by how quickly her expression turned grim and strong. She was, after a couple seconds, back to full strength, sighing and examining the book again. Glimmer cleared her throat, and Adora glared at Hordak. He shrugged, and supposed he would never do such a thing again. There was truth to her statement that it would inconvenience him greatly in terms of public image.

Fear had been his sole weapon when he had first landed. Perhaps that was why he clung to it as though it were a safety blanket. Without fear, he would not have made the empire he had.

“My…” Hordak stuttered over his words. He was unused to this sort of thing. “My _apologies_ , Princess.”

Mermista looked at him momentarily, and then shut her book. Glimmer cleared her throat again, this time louder. Bow, meanwhile, was examining his own muscles, trying to measure how long it would take to match those of Hordak.

“Sorry, Queen Glimmer,” Adora said. “The defendant is a little restless. All his time in the guest room seems to have left him with some apprehensions.”

“I can relate,” Glimmer admitted. “Anyways, Hordak, I think you ought to know that if it is necessary, we will have you forcibly removed from this room and locked up in a much more tightly-enforced cell.”  
“Ah,” Hordak responded. “So, you will build an _actual_ prison specifically for me? I must say, I am beyond flattered.”

“Hordak!” Adora exclaimed.

Glimmer, however, simply laughed a bit. “I mean, we dug up an ancient legal system partially to deal with you. I think we can afford to take a few more extreme measures. Bow, stop flexing.”

Bow looked to her. “But muscle, muscle, I-- Hordak, muscle, I--”

“Bow,” she said. “We’re all very impressed. You saved Etheria. Plus, you owe me quite a few dinner dates. I wouldn’t worry about your muscles.”

“Right,” Bow said, now emulating Hordak’s accent.

Glimmer sighed and placed her face in her hands. “Bow, how can I express to you the multitude of ways in which I find Hordak unattractive?”

Adora looked to Hordak as though expecting a reaction. The murderer simply sat. Had he really been using uninsulated wiring? He was losing his edge during his time on Etheria, most certainly, if he had mismanaged his scientific pursuits and goals so badly that he could miss uninsulated wiring.

“Alright,” Glimmer said, rubbing her forehead in frustration. “So, I should probably give you an example. Bow, go to the witness stand and tell us everything you know about Hordak.”

Bow cleared his throat. He wandered to the witness stand, rubbing the back of his neck. He breathed a few awkward breaths, and opened his mouth. The microphone let out a screeching noise, and Hordak covered his ears. At last, it ceased to screech, and Hordak was once more attentive.

“Well,” Bow said. “Hordak is the ruler of the Fright Zone, was the ruler of the Fright Zone. I suppose he used to be the leader of the Horde, although I don’t know how Horde Prime factors in to official titles when it comes to that sort of thing. So, Hordak got seriously shredded, like, guy’s probably got an eight-pack or something, but, yeah, he’s a bad guy and he did a lot of bad stuff, but he turned good in the end.”

“Oh, so that makes it all okay. He only caused probably hundreds of deaths, but he turned good in the end!” Mermista said. “Alright, so let me ask you a question, Bow. When is the last time you saw Hordak before he returned?”

“He… he was trying to bludgeon Glimmer with a branch. I shot an arrow at him. He was so close to actually killing her!”

Bow looked distraught. “That’s not quite right,” Adora said. “If the defendant’s own statement is to be believed, he was not going to kill her, merely harm her.”

“Oh, so that makes it okay?” Mermista asked.

“Not even slightly!” Bow exclaimed. “You were going to-- to kill my girlfriend, Hordak!”

“I was not going to kill her,” Hordak said. “The blow would not have been lethal. Besides, I did not manage even a strike thanks to your timely intervention.”

“Yeah!” Adora exclaimed. “Don’t think of it as ‘Hordak could have hurt Glimmer!’ Think of it as ‘Hordak _didn’t_ hurt Glimmer’ because you were there!”

Bow’s brow furrowed. He slammed the desk below with his hands. Hordak was slightly taken aback. He didn’t know this particular archer all too well, although his marksmanship had doubtless been impressive to nearly bring him down with a single arrow. In fact, he could not deny his admiration of the boy’s advanced arrows. Perhaps if he ever left this pristine and horrid room, Hordak would ask to do technological work alongside him.

Bow left the witness stand fuming silently. Gone was the comical, almost airheaded demeanor, replaced immediately by a young man whose blood boiled. Hordak looked down at his hands once more. Why this was so, he knew not. It should not have struck him, yet only now did it occur to him that Glimmer had an answer he needed.

“May I ask a question?” Hordak asked. “ _Off_ the record?”

Glimmer shook her head. Hordak looked to the desk. His expression stiffened.

“It is about your father,” he said.

Glimmer’s eyes widened for but a moment. She nodded to Bow, who pressed a button on his tracker. Mermista crossed her arms.  
“Go ahead,” she said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you exiled him to Beast Island. At the moment, he’s helping to reform Mystacor, but I’m sure he’ll show up at some point to tell us about what you did to him.”

“Exiled to Beast Island? No. Why would I exile a prisoner of such value. I was under the impression King Micah was slain in battle with…”

It clicked at once.

“Shadow Weaver. She sent him to Beast Island and falsified his death.. I was unaware that she would react like that, but it appears she had a soft spot for the boy.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would she send him to Beast Island then?”

“If Micah is even half as brave as you, he would rather die than be imprisoned by me. I would use him as a bargaining chip to force Queen Angella into surrender. I would take Bright Moon and your runestone, and with its might, my conquest would be complete.”

“So, I repeat, how would sending him to Beast Island be more merciful?”

“Shadow Weaver is perhaps the only one amongst my aides who knew the true nature of Beast Island. She knew Micah would survive just fine there. Treacherous sorceress. I could have ended the war right there.”

“Which would have been a _bad_ thing,” Adora said.

“Ending the war quicker with far fewer casualties is a bad thing?” Hordak asked. “I do not mean to be critical, but would you please make up your minds? Would you rather I do what I ultimately did, which cost countless lives and did not even end in victory?”

Glimmer looked at him. “Are you trying to justify your crimes? Say it’s our fault you committed them?”

Hordak curled his hands into fists. He could see stains of blood upon them. So rarely did he see blood upon his hands, so rarely had he even felt for the countless people.

“No,” Hordak said. “No. They are not justifiable under Etherian law.”

Glimmer nodded, and Bow touched a button on his pad. Mermista stared Hordak down furiously. There was silence, silence broken only by a knock on the door. Bow pressed the button again, stopping the recording. The doors opened, and through them walked a guard, one in the traditional long, white robe. They carried a small box.

“I was told to give this to Hordak!” they exclaimed.

“It’s alright,” Glimmer said. “We got through what we needed to get through. I think we need a few minutes, about five minutes. Hordak can look through whatever he’s been given.”

“Actually,” Hordak said. “I would rather Adora open it for me. If it should be a weapon, or proof of loyalty from a former Horde member, I want it clear I have no affiliation with them.”

Mermista rolled her eyes. Bow nodded in affirmation. The savior of Etheria looked down at a small red box, which the guard handed to her, then leaving the room in haste. Apprehensively, she pulled its top off.

“It’s got a note,” she said.

Adora handed it to Hordak, and within it he saw a small, opaque case. Hordak plucked the case from its resting place and opened it. Within it was everything he needed. Dyes, paints, cosmetic items of all sorts, a number of tools used for the methodical application of cosmetics so as to serve the role of identification and intimidation, and a small piece of paper, folded up.

Hordak unfolded the piece of paper. It had words upon it, although unlike the previous one, it was clearly not written by Catra. No, between the rainbow coloration, the cursive font, and the sheer tone which exuded from the paper, it was clear who had written this, even before Hordak saw the signature.

_Wanted you to look your best if you’re going to put on a show for us, darling. Thought you’d like black and blue, moody thing you are. Alas, the indignity that the guards have not afforded you your makeup before! It’s very extra, and I like it; it looks like you’re doing the romantic lead in nine shows at once!-- D.T._

“What is it?” Adora asked.

“Merely my cosmetic items. Delivered, courtesy of Double Trouble. I was unaware you were allowing the shapeshifter to run free.”

“We cut a deal,” Adora said.

“I see. They were a valuable asset. Why, without them, I would never have known the truth of what Catra did to Entrapta.”

“Good to know you’re friends. They keep sending me letters about whether Catra and I are an item. They said they want to be a godparent?”

Glimmer looked upon the courtroom as Hordak took a small golden item. He twisted its bottom, and out popped black lipstick. He supposed he would craft his hair back into its typical coloration quite soon, but that would take time and effort; time he did not have and effort he could not put in at the moment. The murderer looked at his own hands again, and dropped the lipstick to the floor.

They were covered in a thick green liquid. Was he bleeding? No, he was most certainly not bleeding. Were the conqueror bleeding, there would be pain.

Red mingled with the sickly green. He looked to Adora, but she seemed lost in thought, picking through the makeup the clever shapeshifter had sent him. He shook his head, his vision blurring slightly. The murderer gritted his teeth.

Indignities. Double Trouble had referred to the way they had robbed him of his cosmetics as an indignity, and for some strange reason, the word stuck into his mind. Hordak had never been one to focus on dignity when it came to punishment; thus, it was only fitting that, petty as it was, they robbed him of his cosmetics.

Hordak squeezed his eyes shut. The murderer reached down, and plucked from the floor the lipstick. His eyes shut, he ran it across his lips. It was a thin line, but it did give just a bit more definition. At last, the murderer opened his eyes, his hands shaking. He twisted the bottom back into place, and set down the lipstick container on the desk to his front.

Glimmer once more cleared her throat, and Hordak turned attentively. Mermista slammed a book against her desk. The murderer looked upon his hands, their dark blue flesh stained no more with blood. He breathed deeply.

This, perhaps, was that pesky little conscience acting up again.

When one did what Hordak did, they went numb to it after a while. They began to dismiss tragedy as collateral damage. Guilt did come to him sometimes, he would admit; it came in waves, as though a turbulent ocean. It came in the wind, a salty breeze against his lips. He had always pressed it deep down into himself. Hordak was not the sort to dwell too greatly on the loss of life that came from any given advancement.

Now, however, that numb sense seemed to fade. Hordak pressed it back down. It sunk as though a stone in a lake. The conqueror would need to be at his most rational to handle this trial, lest he indulge himself in rage, the most compromising of actions. If for even a moment the citizens of Bright Moon; nay, if for even a moment its _ruler_ , who surely bore grudges against him for guarding her cell, saw a threat in Hordak, he would never receive a proper sentence.

Glimmer spoke at last. The entire room paid attention to her declaration. The entire court, that was, except for Bow, who was frantically working on a tracker pad. Hordak clasped his hands. This necessitated a clinical leaning, not the emotional one which had fractured him before.

“So, the purpose of a preliminary trial isn’t just for me to figure out how this entire trial system works. Which, trust me, is hard enough. No, I’ve got to decide, apparently, whether or not we have substantial evidence to try Hordak at all.”

“The massive hole in the middle of Salineas isn’t enough evidence?” Mermista quipped.

Adora gasped. Hordak merely sighed. He supposed that had indeed been an unfortunate mistake, firing upon Salineas as he had. Still, she spoke as though hers was the only kingdom he had besieged. As if she could be so special.

He wisely kept that comment to himself.

“Hordak’s crimes are documented,” Mermista said.

“Are they?” asked Bow. “I was just looking and, uh, we don’t have any documentation on Hordak’s crimes. In fact, for quite a long time, Hordak was, um, not seen by anyone in Etheria at all. By the time he got out of the Fright Zone and started attacking, we were in so much chaos that, um, we sort of didn’t document any of it?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Glimmer said. “There are plenty of eyewitnesses who will be happy to fill us in on what happened.”

Adora opened her mouth to speak, but Hordak shook his head. She opened her mouth once again, and Hordak held out a hand. At last, she stopped, her eyes widening in visible fear. The conqueror looked at his hand. There was nothing upon them, nothing to be afraid of.  
So she must have been afraid of him.

Hordak sighed, and placed both of his hands upon his chin. Mermista’s arms were crossed, as cross as her expression. She frowned and glared to an extent that left the murderer wondering whether she would attack anytime. No, he decided, she was surely too intelligent to do so.

“Your Honor,” Adora said, clearing her throat. “As the defense’s attor-ney, I would argue that nothing he has done is excessive enough to call for this treatment. We have offered pardons to criminals of similar magnitude. I don’t see why we would do otherwise.”

“Your Honor,” Hordak said quietly.

“What was that?” asked Glimmer.

“Simply processing this title bestowed upon you. My apologies, it is presumptuous of me to speak against the wishes of my defense, but I would like you to reject that request.”

“Hordak!” Adora exclaimed.

“Adora, I would like to waive any request not to conduct a trial. There is ample evidence as to my wrongdoing, and as much as this ‘courtroom’ is likely to be a mess when the trial begins, I would like to go through with it.”

“Are you sure?” asked Adora. “Glimmer and I are best friends, I’m sure I could get this over with in a day.”

“No,” Hordak responded, looking to her. She clenched her fist slightly. Hordak spoke more quietly now. “This trial, facing my crimes, is the only way to redeem me in the eyes of Etheria as a whole. If I have not gained sympathy from the public whatsoever, I will face scrutiny wherever I go. I will make life worse for every clone, for not only shall they fear me, they shall fear all who look as I do. That is no life to live, Princess.”

Adora looked to him for a moment. Why was it that She-Ra, ten times his power, feared him? He supposed it had to do with her comment that he “reminded her of someone,” that someone undoubtedly being Shadow Weaver. He supposed the resemblance, that of a similar dark figure, was the same.

To make a deal with one such as Shadow Weaver was among the things he had considered collateral damage, as was the way he had styled himself so. At first, he had considered it warpaint, designed to intimidate, but then he had grown accustomed to it. It had become a part of his identity, his own subconscious little rebellion against his Brother.

“Alright,” Adora said after the awkward silence. “If Glimmer says so, we can go ahead with the trial.”

Hordak nodded. “Adora?” he said. “I am…”

“Lord Hordak?”

“I am…”

Glimmer cleared her throat once more, clearly demanding attention.

“It was a mistake to give Shadow Weaver the power I had, particularly over you. I should have kept a far closer eye on your conditioning.”

“Hordak,” she said, chuckling. “Are you trying to say you’re sorry?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Clearly, I am simply commenting on the tactical error I made in leaving a pair of children with one so unsavory as Shadow Weaver. I suppose that if given the choice to do it again, I perhaps would have raised you myself. You and Catra.”

“Hordak, are you saying you’re sorry and you wish you had adopted me?”

“I would not have been fit to serve as a parental unit, and I never will be. I should have handed you over to the people of Bright Moon.”

“On that note,” Mermista said. Glimmer stared at her angrily, yet did not leave her throne.

“On that note?” Adora asked.

“Hordak, did you participate in the use of child soldiers?”

“My forces took in orphaned children. We trained them to fight. I will acknowledge we fed them propaganda. I would not have sent a child into the field; thus, we primarily utilized machines.”

“So, you’re saying you taught children to kill?”

Hordak could feel a chill running down his back. “Taught children to kill,” he repeated, as though he could not even understand the question. To teach children to fight was one thing, but he had never considered that perhaps he had indeed been teaching them to kill.

“How many people died because you brainwashed them into fighting for the Horde? Did you torture them? Hurt them?”

“The defendant always trusted the Alliance not to take the lives of Horde soldiers,” Adora said. “Besides, speaking from experience, while the Horde’s methods were wrong, they weren’t monsters. They gave us time to age, they tried not to physically hurt us. Catra says that Hordak was willing to hurt Force Captains.”

Mermista raised an eyebrow. Hordak snarled slightly under his breath, and resumed his reasoning. There was no room for rage here, only logic.

“I did physically harm my upper leadership. I am not proud of it. It was impractical, a machine I claimed was designed to increase effectiveness through threat of pain. Now, I realize that it was in all likelihood a method of me to keep control without physical touch.”

In the armada, there was no machine necessary for that. If Prime bade you strangle yourself, you did so at once. If you did not obey his command, he would claw his way into your head and do it for you. Hordak supposed he had wanted a taste of that power. The murderer intended naught but to feed his own ego with said machine.

“Exactly,” Mermista said. “Just give up. There’s no point if you’re just gonna confess to everything.”

“Not _everything_ ,” Adora said with a sly smile. “For example, you won’t hear ‘sorry’ from Lord Hordak here.”

Hordak grumbled impotently. This was degrading, most certainly, yet a thousand lifetimes would he rather live here than in the nightmarish green glow of Prime’s armada. That time was over, and now although he was bound in ineffective chains once more, Hordak was more comfortable here. It did not mean he was going to lie down in Bright Moon’s palace forever.

“Alright, then, creep. Give me this, Hordak. What did you do to Entrapta? She’s been practically obsessed with you ever since you got back. Hugging you, apparently she was looking for you. It’s… it’s gross, Hordak.”

“Entrapta is his lab partner and his trusted friend,” Adora said. Hordak could not help but smile as he recalled the smell of grease against her hair, the warm touch of her body against his.

“Riiiight,” Mermista said. “Except I’m getting a bit more than a ‘friends’ vibe. Trust me, I’ve read plenty of books like this.”

Hordak nearly scoffed.

“Let me guess, you did some crazy space vampire magic on Entrapta and seduced her.”

Hordak _did_ scoff.

“No!” Adora exclaimed. “Hordak did _not_ do some ‘crazy space vampire magic’ on Entrapta. I don’t even think he seduced her. Their relationship was an equal one.”

“Who told you that?” Mermista asked.

“H...Hordak.”

“And why would you trust him?”

“Because he’s a good guy!”

Hordak scoffed even louder.

“Because he’s not predatory to Entrapta? In fact, he seems kind of enamored with her.”

Hordak’s scoff turned to a sigh. Of course, he was enamored. She was his only friend, and, though he tried to resist confessing it, perhaps the woman he loved. He questioned how she would react to that knowledge. He supposed it too had to be kept secret, lest Entrapta think he was the monster they said he was. After all, to be his friend was one thing, but to love one such as him was quite another.

“Prove that he’s not using crazy space hypnosis on her,” Mermista said.

“He is not using crazy space hypnosis on Entrapta!” Adora exclaimed.

Hordak chuckled, then talked. “If I were using ‘crazy space hypnosis’ on my esteemed lab partner, I highly doubt you would have been able to insult her as you had.”  
“How did you know?”

“She told me. I must say, you were quite fortunate I have no influence over her mind.”

“Is that a threat?” Mermista asked.

“No,” Hordak responded.

The courtroom fell silent. Glimmer sighed, and Mermista picked her book up again. Hordak, his hands shaking intensely with some indescribable mix of cold stress and rage, rose from his seat.

“We’re done here,” Glimmer said.

“Good,” responded Hordak.

“I’m telling you!” Mermista exclaimed.

“I hear what you’re telling me,” Glimmer said. “I’m just not sure what your theory has to do with this. We have no evidence beyond conjecture that Hordak’s relationship with Entrapta is anything but that of two lab partners.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mermista said. “Why would we assume that of him? Hordak is a genocidal maniac!”

“Genocidal,” Hordak repeated.

Now that was a word he despised. A descriptor for a man not fit to be as he was, yet one not entirely inaccurate. He clenched his fists, and began to pace from the room abruptly. Mermista exited through the door on the other side, and as she and Adora left, Glimmer pointed toward Hordak. “Stay in here,” she commanded.

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, kneeling.

This hurt him so, to kneel. Not in a physiological manner, but in one beyond that. Hordak had never been one to prostrate himself before any individual. Once again did his vision blur.

“Please leave,” she asked Bow.

The archer nodded, and, with a peck on the ruler’s cheek, exited the room. Hordak remained kneeling before the ruler of Bright Moon. How intriguing that the child he had tortured by Shadow Weaver so long ago was now the ruler of the glorious city.

“I did not intend what happened to Micah,” Hordak said.

“I don’t blame you. The war was chaotic for everyone, even the one who started it. Besides, as you said, you weren’t going to exile Micah.”

“ _Genocidal_ ,” Hordak repeated under his breath.

“What?” Glimmer asked.

“Nothing.”

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Prime’s ship.”

“I was under Prime’s control. Once more, I did not intend to be the guard of your cell. I think he meant it to sow discord between you, Catra and I, prevent your escape.”

“We all know how well that went,” Glimmer said with a chuckle.

“Indeed,” Hordak said.

A short time ago, Hordak would have laughed at the suggestion that he genuflect before the Queen of Bright Moon. He supposed things changed. Some things, however, did not.

“I wanted to know what Prime did to you.”

“I am sure you could find it in countless reports.”

“I’d never seen you so scared. Before, you were like a nightmare on two legs. Then, though, then you were just like me. A scared little kid.”

“I am not a child,” protested Hordak.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I see your meaning, however. You saw me as akin to yourself whereas previously I had been an inscrutable figure.”

“I just want you to know that Mermista never saw that side of you. She didn’t see what you went through like I did. To Mermista, you’re still something she barely knows. You’re a monster to her.”

“I understand.”

“Go back to your ‘cell,’ Hordak.”

Hordak nodded, and with him he took the small red box. As he exited the door, he saw a small number of refugees in white cloaks, wearing the blank white masks. Once more did he feel uneasy, rushing through the hall.

At last, he reached the guest room. In it, however, he found two more people in white cloaks. He gasped, nearly dropping the gift Double Trouble had granted unto him, and then saw what they did. Upon the polished wall, they set up a mirror.

It was a massive rectangle, the mirror, with golden trim around every edge. The guards pounded a nail into the wall, and placed it there. They looked to Hordak, and one backed away, yelping in fright. The murderer approached, reassured as the door shut. He murmured of genocide.

He could remember it all now. The way it had been the first time. The first time Hordak had ever led a conquest.

He remembered begging, pleading with Prime to spare the king of an ancient people. They had crafted such art, such poetry. He had spent quite a while conquering their planet as mercifully as he could, trying his best when in command to spare as many lives as possible. As he had approached, he had prostrated himself to Prime, pleaded that his Brother let the king go, that he let them all go. These people had no need to suffer, as Prime’s mark had been made.

As Hordak looked at his face into the mirror, he recalled how he had at first been humored. Prime had permitted him to take the king to the ship. He had told Hordak that he was a generous sort, that he would spare the king. Hordak had felt assured. Prime had smiled.

Then, it was in his cell that Hordak felt a hand, clawing, pushing and pulling into his mind. Hordak had drawn from his sleeve a short sword, a gleaming white blade glowing with sickly green colors. It had not been by choice that he had cut the king down, not by choice whatsoever!

Hordak flashed back to reality, viewing himself in the mirror. He pressed a hand to the mirror. Was that memory even real, or did he now justify his own actions by falsifying repressed memories?

One of the guards handed him a note uneasily. Hordak dismissed them the moment the mirror was hung upon his wall. It seemed even here he commanded enough fear that his guards would leave at his leisure.

Hordak unfolded the note. Unsurprisingly, it was from the shapeshifting mercenary. They had sent him a mirror alongside his makeup. He would be sure to thank them for their generosity.

Hordak snarled roughly. Even without makeup, there were shadows. Surely a sign of exhaustion.

Hordak did not know how long he had lived. Had it been but one lifetime, or had it been a thousand? The galaxy seemed to blend together. The murderer looked at his hands.

How many had it been? How many times had he protested before it became routine to him? He knew it did not justify it, but he no longer knew factually that which was real from that which was a fiction he had made for himself.

On the note of artificiality, Hordak took from the small red box an angled brush and a small pot of pitch black eyeliner. He dipped the brush in, and shut his left eye. The murderer, his right eye still open, made a thin line across his eyelid. He pulled upward in a sweeping motion as he met the outer corner, and at last, he began to see himself in the mirror again.

“Genocidal,” he repeated.

It stuck in his mind not due to inaccuracy, but due to stark accuracy. It was akin to “murderer” in that he knew only that it contained truth. How many species had fallen by his hand?

He could remember Prime commanding he wipe entire peoples from the world when they would not submit to him. Now, he could even remember the way he had tried to resist, only for Prime’s corrupting influence to force him to commence the bringing of subjugation. He had even made chips so that the people would not be miserable in their servitude, but Prime found his methods of perverting any invention.

Hordak shut now his right eye. He copied the same motion as before across it, and at last, he no longer saw his progenitor in the mirror. A gust of cold wind blew his billowing dress, and he smiled.

There was comfort in it, somehow. There was an odd part of Hordak that was just happy to look like himself once more. However, he could not silence Mermista’s words.

“ _Genocidal maniac_ ,” he said.

What had he done?

At once, Hordak shut himself down. This was once more not the time for emotional breakdowns. No, he knew better than to let himself fall apart so near to the trial. His vision blurred again, and he decided to let the makeup set. It would require proper application after every day.

It was then that he saw it. Pressed against his repaired window, a figure in a white cloak. They wore a blank white mask, and the same white cloak. Hordak now had no doubt. He was being stalked.

As he approached, he blinked, and then it was gone. What was this? Were they perhaps specters of his guilt? Hordak looked at his hands once more, and once more did he see blood staining them. He began to breathe heavily.

Surely, they would not repair the window if he smashed it yet again, but Hordak wanted to give chase to the phantom outside his room. He clenched his bloodied fist.

“How many have I taken?” he asked.

It was a clinical question. Not an emotional one. The worst part of it all was that he could never tell what he had done himself anymore. How much of what he had done had been programming, how much had been the will of Prime. Had Hordak truly been controlled, or had he simply been too weak to say no?

A _clinical_ question, he reminded himself. No, he was certain that Prime had control of him which was nearly complete. If not for his neural divergence from the hive mind, he would not have been a good general, yet if not for that very thing, he never would have pleaded mercy.

The temptation to pursue the cloaked figure pounded at his head again. He did not recognize them. Surely, they were merely hallucinations.  
He could not trust his own thoughts.

Never had Hordak been able to trust his own thoughts. What was his, and what was decreed by his Brother, the one who crept silently into you as you slept and took that which you held dear? Hordak pressed his hands against his temples. He needed to focus.

Sleep had been bountiful last night. It was not enough. It was never enough.

The worst part of it all was something he could not understand. According to all he had read on Etherian mental states, and he supposed he was something of an Etherian now, the average Etherian, upon being confronted with a conundrum such as his, would face incredible emotional turmoil, to the point they would cease to care for their own safety. Yet, Hordak could only find himself concerned with that very safety.

It was strange, most strange. It seemed he did not function as most Etherians did, although that was to be expected. His anatomy was entirely different from that of the average being on this backwater, and his mind was one which was almost completely divorced from that of the typical brain, even for a clone.

So many times had the shadows been cast from his form, yet so often had they returned. On Etheria, he had made an identity of them. It was almost humorous how, looking back, he seemed to have always hated Horde Prime. Then again, hatred was paltry.

How many hated him, he wondered? It would be a calculation high in number and higher in intensity. From one alone he presumed the hatred overtook the entire armada. He had but one opportunity to rectify that hatred, to repair what he had done.

He did not age. He did not know which of his countless memories were real. His hands were bloodied in his mind, cleared only by the dispulsion of these things.

He did not even know if he had been a general at all.

Hordak had always said he was a general. He had always proclaimed himself the bold head of Prime’s tactical division, but now he believed it perhaps unlikely. After all, the repression of memories, the fragments in his mind, and the strange merging of minds, they all implied only one conclusion if one strictly were to use the scientific method. Hordak’s faltering memory had led him to create his own version of the narrative, one where he stood alike to Horde Prime in dignity.

Hordak cursed the foolishness of his mind. He would surely need organization of his thoughts and memories. He would need to determine that which was real and that which was false.

Then came the knock on the door. Immediately, Hordak assumed a position of natural power. He placed his hands behind his back and stood tall. “You may enter,” he decreed.

Fortunately, this was no mere guard that entered. No, Adora once more entered the room. Her eyes were slightly red, as though she were upset. Had he perhaps been responsible for this? Indeed, from an elevated rate of breath and an awkward method of walking, he could deduce that Adora’s mental state was perhaps fragmented.

There was a time when he would have taken enjoyment in that. To see She-Ra herself brought to fear before him. However, as she wandered in, looking frantically around the room, Hordak could only question what it was that made even the savior of Etheria have such an erratic response. His hands left his back, and he approached.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got some sand in my eyes.”

“Sand?” Hordak asked. “In Bright Moon? And said sand elevated your breathing rate to an absurd extent?”

“...It was a lot of sand.”

“Are you stressed, Adora?”

“I, uh, no. Why would you care?”

“You are my defense. If you are stressed, it would be advisable that I know of its circumstances.”

“I’m fine, Hordak.”

“That is a lie.”

Lies irked him. Perhaps it had come in a deep-rooted fear of some sort, although he found that doubtful. No, what irked him was the inability to know that which was true from that which was not. The moment the world was confusing in that regard, every decision’s weight increased by a thousandfold.  
“Adora,” he said. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

“Fine. I’m worried that Mermista’s going to win. I’m worried that this was all pointless, that the trial ended before it even started. I’m worried that after everything you’ve gone through, Hordak, they’ll exile you.”

Hordak twitched. If they removed him from Etheria, he would never see her again. That would be unfortunate.

Unfortunate beyond measure.

“Adora, do not worry for my fate. This is not a trial in which the goal is to prove my innocence. You cannot. I am not innocent.”

“That’s not true,” she responded. “Horde Prime corrupted you, turned you into this.”

“I then spent years away from Horde Prime, and continued to do his bidding. I am not innocent, not in the regard of Etherian law.”

“Hordak, if you keep acting this way, the people will never forgive you.”

“Why should they?” he asked, turning from Adora. “I have been in their nightmares since I arrived here. You and Mermista were correct in that my conquest was not without bloodshed. I destroyed kingdoms, ran people from their homes.”

“You never would have done that without Prime.”

“I never would have been _born_ without Prime, Princess. Saying that there are things I would not have done without Prime is redundant.”

“Hordak, do you _want_ to be exiled?”

Hordak clenched his fist. No, he most certainly did not desire to be banished, sent from Etheria and abandoned to the countless who would come for him. He would forever be split from Entrapta. He would never see his lab partner again, not even for a moment.

“No,” he said.

“You need to put on a good face for these people. You need to make sure they know what you’ve been through.”

“Why are you so obsessed with protecting me?” he asked.

“I don’t believe you need more punishment. I think you deserve mercy.”

“Mercy?” Hordak asked, snarling in a deep breath. “Where was mercy for Salineas? Where was mercy when I nearly took Catra’s life? Where was mercy when I…”

“What?”

“Where was mercy when I spearheaded invasions for Prime, when I served as his general? Where was mercy when I wiped out civilizations?”

“Hordak, I don’t believe you did that.”

“Your portrait of me is biased.”

“No, I _actually_ don’t believe you did that. Hordak, for a moment, I was in your head. In your head, I noticed something. Horde Prime was clinging to your mind, but it wasn’t just that. Your memories haven’t just been suppressed dozens of times. They’ve been actively tampered with.”

“My memories?”

He supposed that did explain his ailing condition. Still, it hurt that even in death, Prime managed a victory over the conqueror. Worse yet, if Adora knew, she likely would not keep it secret. If they discovered this, they would stop the trial.

It was not his own punishment Hordak feared. Hordak was accustomed to punishment. He would take whatever they did to him and he would endure it. While exile was the only thing that could hurt the murderer, the _genocidal maniac_ , there were countless people who would be harmed if he received any other sentence.

True, now that he thought of it, exile was perhaps the most merciful to the others. In spite of that, he knew better than to expect rationality. If he remained on Etheria, _she_ would be attacked. It was certain. Dozens of parties would come for her head, either seeking him or merely seeking a misplaced vengeance.

Hordak had never been a being of moral fiber. That said, even he knew that the guilt would haunt him for eternity if he were to remain without reparation of his status among the Etherians. Entrapta would be hunted as a collaborator, and while she could certainly take care of herself, he found it hard to believe she could pursue her discoveries and repairs as she desired while being pursued to eternity.

“Princess, we cannot tell anyone of this. It will delay the trial.”

Adora wiped her eyes slightly. She had not been _crying,_ , per se, Hordak deduced, although there had been some physiological response to being upset. No, Hordak had always felt Adora was ten times too strong to cry over something so simple as this. She had stood against him since the moment she had defected from the Horde. A brave woman indeed.

“Hordak, if your memories aren’t right, we _have_ to delay the trial.”

“If we delay the trial, we know not when it will commence. The people will seek their own solutions.”

“Hordak, what are you suggesting?”

“I am saying if we delay the trial, the people will hunt Entrapta.”

“You might be right, but you’re still not in a state to conduct a trial. I mean, fake memories, what seems to be lingering trauma, I… you’re in--”

“I have never been ‘in a tizzy.’ _Never_.”

“I was going to say ‘in serious danger’ but I get the feeling this bit doesn’t really involve me.”

“We cannot delay the trial.”

“Hordak, I really can’t let you go into this in your condition.”

“There is a way we can try to fix it. Would you do me a favor, Adora?”

“What is it?”

“I cannot leave. You must go into Prime’s ship. Although he typically kept information in his thoughts, he kept a database. I need you to find two things.”  
“What are they?”

“I need you to find his files on the tactical division, long since abolished. Then I need you to find his files on Horde soldier H11-7158.”

“H11-7158?”

“Write it down if you need to.”

“Who is that?” she asked.

Hordak gestured to himself.

“I-- your name is Hordak. I know we picked up Wrong Hordak, but, I mean, Prime didn’t give you names?”

“A name was a privilege we had not earned.”

Even now, he sometimes had an irrational desire to cast his name aside and plead with Prime for forgiveness. He had shot him. It should have brought him victory, yet all that had come with it was the occasional glimpse of blood on his hands.

“There’s another method,” Adora said. “I was able to tap into your mind somewhat when I removed Prime. I think I could do something similar. My healing abilities would repair some of the fractures in your mind.”

“ _No_!” Hordak exclaimed.

He was not sure why he had exclaimed such a thing, nor why he was shaking so. He took a few deep breaths, and then shook his head. He did not understand _why_ it disturbed him so, but judging by the way his body reacted, he did not want to have someone digging around in his mind. Hordak pushed it aside.

“I believe we should find the files before we attempt anything of the sort.”

“Alright,” Adora said. “But if that doesn’t work, you have to promise to let me fix your memory issues with my powers. I don’t know how much worse this condition gets.”

“I…”  
“Hordak, you need to promise. I don’t want you to sacrifice your sanity just to make it through the trial. It’s not worth it.”

Hordak clenched his fists. This rendered him pitifully vulnerable. He did not desire to be vulnerable, not again. Even if he trusted her, to let Adora fix him would prove to everyone his insurmountable vulnerability.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If the files cannot repair my mind, I will permit you to do so.”

“Thank you.”

Hordak looked at himself once more in the mirror. He was grimacing, as he always was. In fact, now that he thought of it, the last time he recalled smiling was when he had been held tight by Entrapta. It was as though warmth itself embraced him and supported him, as though he had at last been himself for even a moment, no question of what was real. She was real, and she always would be real.

There was comfort in that.

“Hordak, the trial starts tomorrow. I need you to tell me if anything strange happens.”

“White masks.”

“What?”

“I believe I have been hallucinating. Have you seen figures in white cloaks and blank white masks?”

“I have. I always assumed they were just refugees. You’ve been hallucinating?”

“Every so often, I see blood on my hands.”

Hordak turned to her, and she looked concerned. He dismissed the concern. Of course she would be. Adora was altogether far too concerned, every moment of every day.

“It is nothing,” he said. “But a spot of red and a spot of green. Stains.”

“You feel guilty?”

“Not guilt, I do not think. Paranoia. A mental response to the sudden reminder that I am in fact a murderer, the fact there was more than collateral damage.”

“Hordak, that sounds like guilt.”

“Trust me. I don’t feel guilt.”

That was what scared him so much. As the murderer turned back, he looked upon the mirror. Every single file, every piece of paper, every bit of text, they all said that anyone who felt emotion at all, who cared for others even slightly, would feel immense guilt over what he had done. There was only one Hordak had ever known that did not feel any guilt.

The comparison sickened him.

“Get out,” he commanded.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” Adora responded. “This isn’t the Horde anymore. You can’t do that.”

“ _Please_ get out,” he requested.

“I’ll get you those files. You keep your end of the promise.”

Looking into the mirror, as Adora’s reflection slowly left the room, the murderer wandered to the mirror. His vision blurred, and he shook his head. There was a slight pain.

Hordak then noted a detail. His left eye was normal in coloration, the typical bright green of a Horde soldier. His right, however, was different. Its shade of green was far darker, almost brown. How peculiar.

His vision stabilized and the pain left. The daylight was still bright. The conqueror had a request. Today, as he knew due to a perfect schedule, one of the few things he could keep organized in his mind, that it was Entrapta’s day off.

On the side of the mirror, he now noticed a pair of buttons. He smiled. It seemed Double Trouble cared about more things than simply his cosmetics.

The upper button was a bright red, the bottom button a fearsome shade of blue. Upon pressing the blue one, Hordak found a holographic display. Looking into the mirror to ensure privacy, he welcomed this surprising gift sent unto him.

Perhaps Double Trouble was trying to lay the groundwork for an escape. Perhaps the shapeshifter expected that Hordak would make an attempt at escape with this communication device. Or, if Hordak were to be generous, they were perhaps simply trying to help him.

Nonetheless, he adjusted the frequency with a holographic knob. At last, he had the proper frequency. He set up a contact using her tracker pad, and with that contact, he smiled.

Hordak pressed a button, and met a response, a projection through the mirror. There, before him, petting the robotic head of Emily, Entrapta was sitting, smiling. Her eyes widened with joy when she saw Hordak, and he could not help but smile with similar warmth.

He pressed a hand to the mirror once more. This time, it was met not with his own, but with hers. Even without her physical presence, he still felt a great warmth wash over him.

For just a moment, Hordak was content.


	3. What Hath Night To Do With Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to give a massive thank you to our readers, as well as those who have supported us and boosted this fic! We really love all the comments... and kudos... and-and bookmarks... we've received from you all and we're very, very thankful for you all.
> 
> Alternate Chapter Title: Adora, Ace Attorney.

All things were pure.

Here he was, once more in the ship of Horde Prime. This time, however, things were different. After years of torment, Lord Hordak sat upon the throne of Prime. Not only did he sit there, but the way the clones gazed upon him was the most incredible sensation.

It was as though a thousand arms held him with great esteem and affection. This was the only thing beyond love, he decided. No, it was worth ten times the price of paltry love and paltry redemption. As Etheria laid below him, the backwater most inferior, he watched as a nearby lift’s doors opened. Lord Hordak rested his elbow upon the throne, and his chin upon that hand.

This was reverence.

The lift opened, and Hordak wondered how he had even come to be here. He decided, as a clone brought a platter of some violet gelatinous mass to him, and another brought a silver goblet of green wine. It was thick in texture, yet as he pressed it to his lips, he found its temperature oddly cool and its taste refreshing.

Then it was that he saw her. At once, it all came back to him. This… this was wrong.

Wrong, Hordak reminded himself, was an Etherian concept. There was no wrong in this galaxy. There was only the light and the shadow.

Yet, she feared him. There was something in the way her vibrant hair receded, the way she carried herself. It was dejected, defeated. There were bruises staining her soft brown flesh, and some inexplicable part of him pulled. He did not want this. He had to remind himself that Etheria had its temptations, its vile seductions.

“What have you done?” she asked.

Hordak looked at his throne room around him. He had won, and yet now the wine tasted sour. He tossed it aside, and rose from his throne. He rushed toward her, and embraced her. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her as tight as he could.

Then he heard the cracking.

It was almost merciful in how instant it was. With just a squeeze, he had destroyed her. Her eyes glazed over, and he shut them. He cradled her in his arms as she grew cold. The other clones faded, their white uniforms the only thing which remained of them.

She was in his arms, yet she could never hold him back. There was no more warmth to her. She was pale, broken. Hordak could not help but plead.

“Come back,” he begged.

He could not control her. He watched as she crumpled to the white floor. He looked upon her form, and then his dark blue hands. Then, he heard the voice again. He observed as his vision blurred, and then as he pressed those hands into the floor, and looked at her. She was gone, his everything, his only starlight, his lab partner, his friend.

“Please stay,” he begged. “Don’t go, not now, not now! Please, I need you. I need you.”

He needed her. Without her, he was nothing, _nothing_! She was everything to him, everything that defined him and kept him alive.

The voice was finally discernible. The smooth, refined tone. It was unmistakably him. Big Brother.

A chill ran down the spine of Hordak as he looked at the remains of his failure. That chill spread until his entire body felt as though it were being taken over by some unseen force. That force, however, was one he knew all too well. Horde Prime had come to take him completely.

Surely, there was nothing more to take. Etheria, Hordak cared not about. It could burn for all he cared. Entrapta, however, he needed. He craved the touch of her hands, the way her hair wrapped around him. He craved her voice.

Never again would he hear that voice. Others thought it shrill; he knew better than to think such things. Never again would she laugh or cry. Entrapta was dead before him.

Hordak screamed.

Then came the voice.

“I did not think I would be so proud of you,” said the voice of Horde Prime.

“Come back to me,” he begged. “Don’t leave me alone with him!”

“Ah, so selfish, Hordak. How depraved. You seek worthiness of my power, you seek esteem, yet you consort with the animals. I will not deny I have felt the temptation to do the same in the past, but one such as you reduces yourself.”

“Please,” he begged.

It was cold, but it was all he had. Hordak tried to hold her limp hand. There was nothing.

“Please.”

“Stop your begging, brother!”

At once, Hordak snapped into a proper stance. He stood tall and strong, and he felt Prime’s invisible touch across his body. He breathed shaky breaths, Entrapta still before him. He had done this, he had killed her.

“Yet, I am proud of you. You resisted the temptation, Hordak. You took her life in spite of your love for her.”

“I didn’t mean to!” he exclaimed. “I did not know I would kill her! Please!”

“Hush. Plead not. You have done yourself a disservice in being willing to consort with this pitiful Entrapta. Now, however, you are at last free of her corruption. You are pure.”

“I don’t _want_ to be pure!”

“Silence your mewling, clone! I have bestowed upon you a great honor. More than a great honor. Rather, you bestowed it upon yourself.”

“What?”

“When you gave yourself a name, when you conquered. You misunderstood the world as it was, but now you are more than you ever were before. I am so proud of you.”

At once, Hordak saw Entrapta rise from her slumber. He reached out, hopeful. Her body warmed itself, and he thought perhaps Prime had deigned to reward him in some way, that he was to be rewarded by regaining his friend.

Then her eyes opened, glowing a bright green.

“No!” he exclaimed.

“Why do you protest?” asked Prime, running cold, illusory fingers down Hordak’s back. “You are the one who asked this of her. She will forever be yours, Hordak.”

“I am forever yours, never to leave or to betray you,” Entrapta said in a cold monotone.

She tilted her head. Hordak backed away, and it was then his garment turned white in coloration. His chest was now exposed, and he attempted to cover the vulnerability. Prime’s voice laughed loudly, and Hordak backed into the throne. Etheria was illuminated in bright green light, its secrets unveiled before him. Its entire population kneeled to Hordak.

“You wanted this,” Prime said.

“I never wanted it,” Hordak responded, clasping his hands over his mouth. “I never wanted it. I only wanted you to be proud.”

“I _am_ proud, Hordak. Think about it. Millions crushed with the push of a button, and you don’t even feel anything. What would dear Entrapta think when she discovered you made the chips that took her friends?”

“I never wanted it!” Hordak repeated.

“Then why do you have it even now? Think of it. You took a name. You conquered Etheria, almost in its entirety. How long would it have been before you expanded across the stars, ‘Hordak?’ Do you know where I met my beginnings? _Just like you_.”

“I’m not like you,” Hordak said. “I’m not!”

“You are not like me, brother?” Prime asked. Hordak curled up, crossing his legs. Entrapta walked toward him, and took her seat on the arm of his throne. He looked away from her. Prime spoke.

“No. You are not like me. You are ten times as dangerous. You don’t care for life. You are still innovative thanks to your defects. Yet, so poetically, those imperfections made you similar to me.”

Hordak sputtered. “I never wanted it,” he murmured faintly.

“Then why did you take it?” asked Entrapta in a flat voice, her bright green eyes looking upon him with no warmth or love.

“Face it!” Prime exclaimed. “In slaying me, you became me. How long until you destroy their sham of a trial, until you tear apart that joke of a courtroom end every miserable life within?”

“I didn’t want it.”

“Through you, I live again. I need it from the one who defied me. I need you to say it, brother. You are my legacy. I can never die. I am Horde Prime!”

“You are Horde Prime…”

“Yes? Say it.”

“You are Horde Prime, and you have won.”

Etheria burned. Entrapta kissed his cheek. Hordak could only look, as dead-eyed as the chipped ones, at his handiwork. He wanted it. He knew he wanted it, that he wanted this victory, this pride.

“Now, Hordak. Wake from you slumber, and do my bidding again! Wake up, Hordak. _Wake up_!”

“Wake up!”

Hordak gasped for breath with a sudden start. His back rested against torn cushions and shredded stuffing. His every breath was affected by a warmer temperature. Around him were the polished walls of the guest room. Before him stood Adora, alive and well.

He knew not what to thank for the fact such grisly things had been a dream. Still, as he rose to his feet, stumbling, Hordak could hear Prime’s voice echo in his mind. He sighed a deep sigh, and looked to Adora.

He was awake.

“We’re late,” Adora said.

“I need to contact Entrapta.”

“Hordak, you have to show up to your own trial on time!”

“I have to contact Entrapta.”

“Is it an emergency? Are you hurt?”

He took a moment to assess the situation. It was a dream. No, not merely a dream. A dream which had intrusive imagery, strange things which embedded themselves in the mind. He believed Etherians would call it a nightmare.

He recalled how Shadow Weaver had spoken of Catra’s nightmares. She said that on the occasions she peered into the little girl’s mind, she saw horrifying things. The only solution, Shadow Weaver had said, was for Catra to ascend to Adora’s bunk. She snuggled in with the other child, and her thoughts grew content.

Hordak supposed that was it. A psychological response to external factors. It was nothing, a blip. Every Etherian had suffered such an ailment, and it was merely that he was the first. It was not an emergency. Besides, far be it from the efficient Lord Hordak to reduce himself to the level of a child suffering from simple night terrors.

“No,” Hordak said softly. “I am not hurt. We can go.”

They walked, then, through the corridors of the castle. All around, Entrapta’s machines cleaned the walls and polished the floors. Hordak knew better than to assume she was here.

“Hordak, can I ask you a question?”

Hordak set his hands by his hips, grinding his teeth slightly. He nodded. Perhaps it was best that he speak as little as possible, lest he paint a portrait of himself the jury disliked. Hordak looked at his hands, which he found thankfully clean.

“Hordak,” Adora muttered. “What do you think of this trial? Of being tried for your crimes?”

“It is the result of the Etherian judicial system. Nothing more.”

“Glimmer is sitting on a throne despite risking the world.”

“I am quite sure Glimmer has met resistance in her role as ruler.”

“Oh, she absolutely has. I mean, I was part of it. Still, though, doesn’t it hurt that Double Trouble, Catra, even Scorpia, they’re all getting pardons but you’re not?”

“I was leader of the Etherian Horde. Of course they would try me.”

“You’re dancing around your feelings.”

“Yes. I am.”

“So you are hurt?”

“I said no such thing.”

“Hordak, I want to know because Catra asked me something last night. Do you think this trial is a sham?”

“It is a public show,” he said. “I will be blunt in that regard. This trial is not one of legal value, but of symbolic value. They are making an example of me.”

“That doesn’t make you mad?”

“I did the same countless times back in the Horde. I suppose it is merciful that they have granted me a trial at all; I would not have done the same for them. I suppose Catra has spoken of how I sent her to the Crimson Waste.”

“In fairness to you, that was pretty merciful. Weren’t you gonna send her to Beast Island?”

“Let’s not gloss over the simple facts. My goal was that Catra would not return. It was not functional, it was to make an example of a traitor.”

“Fine. You used some ruthless tactics, but you changed. You’re not the man you were before. You and Catra both changed.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“I-- well, yes, I guess.”

“What do people mean when they say I am not the man I was before? I do not understand. I am Hordak, and I always have been.”

“Well, we mean that you were evil, and now you’re good. You turned on Prime.”

“Yes. I turned on Prime. That does not make me a different man. I am simply a man who made a different decision than he would have before.”

“I… you changed.”

“Did I _change_ , Princess, or did I do something selfless for a selfish reason? I slew Horde Prime to affirm my own identity and to protect my friend. Who is to say that after that, I would not assume the title of emperor myself?”

“Because you’re not like Prime.”

“I am cloned from his very _being_ , Adora. I was created to replicate him, then to obey him. Thanks to my defect, I am disobedient.”

“Hordak, are you okay? What happened in there, why did you need me to call Entrapta?”

Hordak sighed. “Nothing. I merely had an unfortunate experience. It is not as though it is suffering exclusive to me.”

“Hordak, do you need help?”

“Did you find the files?”

“I did. I found some. I’ll have them sent to the mirror in your room so you can read them.”

“Did you read them?”

“They weren’t my business. I’m not about to start prying into someone else’s things, Hordak.”

Hordak turned to her. The idea that someone with that power, with the ability to reach into the mind of another, would choose not to use it was strange, even if this was the most mundane level. He assured himself that Adora was simply exercising courtesy, and that whatever strange telepathy came with the form of She-Ra, it was something that could be made dangerous in the hands of one more vicious and competent than Adora.

“You have done excellent work,” Hordak told Adora. “I can state with utter certainty that I am impressed.”

“Thanks?”

Hordak merely made a sound which was best described as a mixture of a growl and a scoff. He placed his hands behind his back, and proceeded on, the door of the courtroom drawing ever nearer. He knew what would face him in there; it was not a question of whether this paltry excuse for a conscience of his was prepared. It was merely a matter of whether he would be able to suppress himself long enough not to be condemned by the jury.

“So, uh, I don’t know how well you know this, but they had to add about eighty extra chairs. See, uh, it turns out a lot more people applied to be jurors and even more showed up. There’s also a lot of witnesses, like, a _lot_ of witnesses. Like, even I didn’t expect this many. I’m not sure if I can pull this off.”

“Adora?”

“Yeah?”

“There is precious irony in me providing this statement: Calm down, Princess.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Do not apologize. It is a simple error, made by most Etherians.”

“Being nervous is an error?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “An imperfection.”

Hordak looked down at himself, and his eyes widened. It seemed he was, in fact, shaking. An interesting physical defect. Prime had never shaken, he had never exposed his fear. Even when he had taken a laser to the back, Prime had been without regret or morality. Hordak reminded himself that he was not in that way different. It was not morality that drove him to this trial, but reputation; if Hordak were to fail in this endeavor to redeem himself, his brethren and his friend would live the rest of their lives in great danger.

Hordak held his hands out. The guards, however, did not approach with cuffs this time. He gave them a skeptical look. Adora, however, waved him aside. The murderer placed his hands behind his back, an action which grew more frequent, and took a deep breath.

It seemed it was time. Time for the trial. The time had truly come for Hordak’s journey to begin, a journey which could very well take him from the shadows and back.

The doors opened.

He had known there would be people ready. However, the cacophony of sound was not what he had expected. Indeed, the courtroom’s jurors had increased in number from the previous expectation; the seats were full, every last one of them. There were hundreds in the room, waiting for Hordak. In a line stood witnesses. First among them a youthful blonde soldier, a young man of little renown and prestige yet great effectiveness. There, in the front of the line, stood Kyle.

Hordak was overwhelmed by the sound in but an instant. It grated on his ears, the roars and howls of the crowd a typhoon of sensation. The former ruler of the Horde could barely keep his head up as they chanted, as they cried out things which profaned his name. He took care to remind himself that the people of Bright Moon were not savages; they were hardly even primitive in comparison to the armada.

They would not call for his head, he reminded himself. This place was a safe one, even for him. They said foul things of him, but he knew better than to let them pierce his mind and enter his thoughts. They would not harm him, he knew.

Hordak stepped toward the desk of the defendant, Adora following him. Glimmer sat upon her throne, a bastion of hope for Bright Moon, her arms crossed. Bow sat alongside her in a small blue chair, working frantically on a data pad.

The murderer clasped his hands, breathing a rough breath. It seemed the desire for punishment was even more substantial than he had presumed. He breathed another shaky, warm breath, and it was then that he noticed, through the window Glimmer sat alongside, that the clouds seemed to grow darker. He snarled quietly.

A storm was coming.

Glimmer slammed a hand upon her table, and the entire courtroom fell silent. Mermista, made up in a manner not dissimilar to Hordak himself, albeit primarily in cyan rather than in black, shut a legal book. Adora visibly cringed as she took her seat. Kyle, meanwhile, ran out the door in fear, shaking. How ironic; the soldier could manage the valor to take on Horde Prime, yet he could not even speak in court.

Hordak reminded himself that he was not to speak either. There were whispers, murmurs amongst the jurors as they looked upon him. Hordak could not help but feel cold.

He dismissed the sensation. It was all too familiar, and he would not allow conflict. Thunder rumbled in the darkened clouds, and Hordak crossed his arms, wrapping them around himself.

Next in the line was a random young man in a cyan shirt. His hair was slicked back almost formally, his demeanor a grim one. The clone squeezed himself tighter as Glimmer gave the courtroom an examination.

“Alright,” she said. “Alright. I’d like to welcome you all to the first trial Bright Moon has had in, uh, a very long time. Now, we, um, don’t exactly have precedent for most of this. It’s gonna be rough, I’m not gonna lie to you, but if everybody can keep their heads, we’ll be alright. Everything spoken in this room will be recorded and played back to the jury as they see fit.”

There was something stilted about the way she spoke. Presumably, she had been so used to being a warrior that she had hardly become accustomed to being a Queen in peacetime. Perhaps there was a certain kinship there; Hordak himself had hardly ever wondered what would have happened had he won. He was a man bred for battle, and the idea of a world without battle was one alien to him.

“Anyways,” Glimmer said, awkwardly coughing into her elbow quietly. “Anyways, we are presiding over the fate of the Horde clone known as Hordak. While all other Horde clones have received pardons, Lord Hordak is an exceptional case. For much longer than the others, he waged war on Etheria, especially Bright Moon.”

“He killed the Scorpion people!” cried out a young man with scorpion limbs in the jury. “Wiped them all out! Every last one of them.”

Glimmer looked at the man, blinked for a moment, and then pointed toward his limbs. The man sighed, and shrugged. “Okay, so maybe he didn’t kill that many of the Scorpion people.”

Wiped out the Scorpion people? Hardly. They had been growing rarer and rarer for reasons he was unsure of. True, Hordak had forced the royal family into surrender, but he was not the sort of man to give up an asset so useful as an entire people. That would be cruel without purpose.

Hordak sighed. He remembered that it was not beyond even him to be cruel without purpose. The suffocation machine was a testament to such a thing.

“The jury, despite their biases, must be impartial. This trial is not a question of evidence, but one of agency. Allow me to remind you that, although Hordak’s actions are indisputable, his motives are not. Ultimately, the goal of this trial is to decide the role Hordak played in the invasion of Etheria, and whether he can be held responsible for his actions. Please, abandon the decisions you’ve already made and judge the defendant on the case’s merits, not on those of your fear and hatred.”

Fear and hatred, Hordak knew quite well, were excellent tools. With fear and hatred alone, one could turn a child to a warrior. With fear and hatred alone, one could craft a monster of a person and a world-slayer of a monster. There was almost a certain cathartic irony in seeing his own tools deployed against him.

Glimmer gulped visibly. “The prosecution may call the first witness to the stand.”

The rumbling of the thunder caused Hordak to recoil slightly. There were eyes all over the room, eyes looking upon him. It was curious to survey the jury, to look upon them in all their strange notions. They murmured still amongst themselves, yet one juror in particular caught the eye of Hordak. They wore a crimson cloak, and a small black facial covering which hid even their eyes in darkness. The conqueror looked down at the polished, golden floor. The cloaked one, Hordak knew; it was merely how he knew them that he was unsure of.

He pressed his clasped hands to his chin. He took a moment to remind himself that the man who took the stand would not have full awareness. This was Etherian procedure, he recalled, and thus the conqueror would not speak. Adora would speak in his name, and he had little doubt that the savior of Etheria itself would be influential. If he had spoken in his own defense, he would have been drowned out by a tide of justified hatred.

He sighed into his hands. Bow pressed a button on his pad, and dozens of small black cables emerged from the corners of the walls. There was a light beeping for a couple moments, and then it was drowned out by the thunder. Glimmer nearly leapt from her throne, and the former ruler amongst the Etherian Horde would not stop shaking.

It was strange, the thunder; never had a natural sensation done such things to him before. This was a strange reaction, likely a mistake of his mind. If he were to analyze it, he would likely state that it was a response, difficult not yet impossible to repress. He would have to manage that somewhat.

He could not help but hear the words of the prosecution in his mind once more. _Genocidal maniac_. Every time he heard them, he desired only that they leave him completely.

Now the witness took the stand. They mumbled an introduction into the microphone, holding it almost a bit too close to their lips. Hordak gritted his teeth with every word as they began. Adora stood silent as Mermista tossed aside her book. The clone had no power here. No word he spoke would carry the air it had in the Horde.

Sometimes, things had been simpler when he was in charge. That very thought gave him great unease. He could feel his fingers shake as rain struck the window. This was not a good environment for one such as he, yet he knew better than to leave.

“Witness,” Mermista said in a bold, loud voice. “Tell us exactly what Hordak did.”

“Hi,” said the witness, awkwardly waving to the jury. “So, um, I was at Salineas, when Hordak and the Horde arrived. I saw him, you know? I saw him at the head of his ship, a massive weapon on his arm. I freaked out, tried to warn people.”

Mermista took the book, and examined it. It was then that Hordak got a closer look. No, this was not even a book on law, it was a _Mer-Mystery_ novel. It seemed the prosecution was multitasking.

“So,” Mermista said, opening the book. “Can you verify that Hordak led the Horde in the destruction of Salineas?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was right there. He even _smiled_.”

Hordak sneered. As though they could know of his plight. Of course he had smiled, rejoining his troops on the battlefield. It was akin to a piece of home, a bit of the old life he had reached for.

The old life he had sacrificed.

Hordak assumed a neutral expression. Adora looked back at him momentarily, just a bit of concern on her face, and he nodded gently. She nodded back, and it was then he noted that she shook just as he did. Perhaps it was the thunder, or perhaps there were other factors.

The witness was fidgeting, exchanging short looks with the murderer. Hordak supposed that it must have been quite the sight, seeing the man who destroyed your home brought to a courtroom where he held no sway. How far he had come.

“So, are you saying that my client experienced joy in attacking innocent civilians, in attacking an illegitimate target?”

“Objection,” Adora said softly. The witness noticed, and pointed to her. “Objection,” she repeated, this time louder.

“Objection?” Mermista asked. Glimmer looked down, and gave Adora a nod, gesturing for her to speak.

“This line of questioning suggests Salineas was an illegitimate target, but that is untrue. When Hordak personally attacked it, Salineas had chosen its side in aiding Bright Moon.”

“You’re being ungrateful!” Mermista exclaimed. “I chose to help you in a war and Salineas is a ‘legitimate target?’ Adora, how can you say that?”

“Because it’s true!”

“Not quite,” Mermista responded. “You know as well as anyone that Horde soldiers had already attacked Salineas long before I stood alongside you at Bright Moon.”

Hordak would not put it beyond his reach to attack Salineas. It was merely pragmatism that he had not done so sooner. Ah, he recalled almost wistfully, the truly superb skill of Double Trouble. He could think of no other operative capable of such manipulation of the Princesses.

That wistful thought was interrupted by the booming of thunder. Hordak reeled back into his chair, and the jurors murmured. In the murmurs, he could hear again the chanting.

He pushed it from his mind, and Glimmer looked between prosecution and defense. Hordak tapped his fingers upon his thigh repeatedly, waiting for the silent confrontation between the Princesses to find closure.

Having made a decision, Glimmer gestured to Mermista. “She’s right. The Horde was under Hordak’s command, and it was attacking Salineas long before they declared an allegiance.”

Mermista mumbled something under her breath, and then turned to the witness. “Do you believe Hordak was experiencing joy when he attacked an innocent target?”

“I didn’t say that,” the witness said. “He was just smiling as he fired.”

Hordak would not pretend for even a moment that he had not been. It had been refreshing, every last part of it. From the salty air of the sea to the warm feeling of a weapon in his hand, it had been almost comforting to him. In a way, Hordak had felt like he had power. For once since his disease had overtaken him, Hordak had not been consigned to his lair like a broken machine, and although what he had done had been terrible, it had been somehow refreshing.

“Hard to interpret it any other way,” Mermista said. “In addition, can you tell us what happened in the aftermath of that blast?”

“He and his forces invaded the city. They razed about half of it. The funny thing is that they didn’t even take anything. There was no looting, they just destroyed homes as a show of force and stationed troops there. It was over so quick.”

Of course. Prime had opposed the impurities of looting from those he considered inferior, although it had never stopped him from having delicacies delivered to him personally. Of course, Prime would have purged the population as well. Some things were beyond the depravity even of Hordak.

“What did the defendant do next?” Mermista asked.

“He just left. He left us, with my home destroyed, sixty people wounded, and two dead. If not for the Princesses, I wouldn’t have even gotten my family out of there.”

Two. Only two. For some strange reason, Hordak was reassured by that knowledge. It was not as though he took issue with slaying an opponent; after all, that was typical of war. Perhaps it served as a reminder of the vile Horde Prime.

“May I question the witness now?” asked Adora.

Mermista scoffed, and then nodded.

“Alright,” Adora said. “How much did you know about Hordak before he attacked Salineas?”

“I just knew he was the leader of the Horde. I knew he hadn’t been seen in years outside of the Fright Zone.”

“So, I’m going to assume you don’t know the truth about him?”

“Does it have something to do with the invasion? With the millions of lookalikes running around?”

Adora took a deep, sharp breath. Breathing out, she centered her hands, pressing them against one another. Hordak shut his mouth tight, trying to deny his temptation to speak out.

“So, this should be given to everyone in the room, because I’m guessing a lot of you don’t know it. Hordak is a clone of the galactic conqueror Horde Prime. He is genetically based on him, spent his entire life influenced by him, and for all intents and purposes, saw him as a god. When the time came, Hordak turned on Prime and hurled him from a platform, forcing Prime to possess his body and enabling me to exorcise Prime from him, disposing of Prime for good.”

Now, the murmurs erupted again. Glimmer quieted them with merely a look, and Hordak could only look at his hands. They were clean, yet every second he feared once more he would see them stained. When one could not trust their own thoughts, it created a feeling of paranoia. That paranoia caused them to be less able to trust their own thoughts; thus, Hordak shut himself down completely. This was no time for emotional thinking.

“I didn’t know,” the witness said quietly, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “Th-that doesn’t change things though! How long was he on Etheria?”

Adora looked to Hordak. He simply shook his head. He knew not how many years he had been on the backwater planet, nor how this world had affected him. If he were being honest, Hordak had never been sure how well he had been in control of his actions during his time here.

He recalled the first time he had ever experienced it. Something which would become a staple of life on Etheria. Prime, he dug into your mind and he eased it, dulled it; you were sedated until he decided you were a weapon. It was as though a hound, released from its leash to attack, yet kept on that leash every other moment of your life.

Hordak recalled _rage_. No sedative. No mind control. Simple, pure rage. It had overtaken him like a force unto itself, and he had no way of controlling it. In that rage, he had smashed the throne of the Scorpion Kingdom, and without even a moment of regret, he had begun the process of building an empire to return to Prime. How intriguing what a decision made in uncontrollable rage could do to an entire life.

“He was on Etheria for a while. Before I was here. Look, it doesn’t matter. I want you all to know that Hordak has more to him than just being the person who terrorized Etheria.”

“I-I understand.”

Glimmer gave Adora a harsh glance, and the savior of Etheria stumbled over a few of her next words. After her ponderance, she spoke. It was, of course, another question for the witness. Hordak was unsure exactly why he had expected anything different.

“What did Hordak do during the attack?”

Hordak didn’t need to hear his answer to recall exactly what had happened. He had stood at the gates, and a dozen guards had been struck down by his hand as his forces had taken Salineas. They were no match for him. He did not, however, recall that he had killed them.

 _Killed_.

This man, he had said that there had been two dead in Salineas, and Hordak hadn’t even cared. In fact, he had been reassured by the fact there had been only two. It struck him as being resemblant to Prime. He shook as the thought crossed his mind.

A killer, certainly, he had always been. It was the nature of a warrior, but something told Hordak that these had not been guards who had fallen in the line of fire. Again, he noted that such things typically occurred when one was the leader of an invading force. The conqueror took a deep breath from the air, which grew warmer every moment.

The witness finished his statement, which matched perfectly Hordak’s recollection of the events. As they looked upon Hordak one last time, they gasped, and with immediacy, they stumbled away from the stand. Mermista reached out a hand to console them. The witness, however, walked out. Hordak merely made a sound akin to “hm.”

The next person up was someone Hordak knew quite well. Force Captain Scorpia, with her white hair and muscular physique, was among his greatest warriors and among his kindest troops. Unfortunately, that kindness had served to the detriment of the Etherian Horde a number of times.

Now, she stood before him. The conqueror clutched his wrists tightly as the chanting continued through the rain. Thankfully enough, the jurors had fallen silent; in spite of that, however, Hordak looked into the jury and quickly discovered that the one in the red cloak watched him intently, fiddling with their hands with great apprehension. How peculiar.

Scorpia took to the witness stand. Adora backed away toward the desk. Bow, meanwhile, pressed a button on the data pad frantically as Scorpia took the microphone. She took a shaky breath into the microphone, and Hordak sighed, knowing what was coming.

The screeching of the microphone rang through his ears with all the violence it could. He recoiled, and as if to fight alongside the screeching, there was another clap of thunder. The formerly dignified Hordak fell from his seat, scrambling along the floor, gasping for air. His clawed fingers scratched against the polished floors, his face contorting. Adora looked back to him, and extended a hand.

“All beings,” he muttered.

At last, the sound faded. Hordak coughed a couple times into his elbow, and his vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, and rose to his feet, pulling himself up by the desk, which was nearly torn in two by the unfamiliar strength of the clone. The marks left in the floor were paltry to the former villain.

Shaking, he muttered incomprehensibly as he sat down. The jury looked at him awkwardly, Scorpia even moreso. She visibly backed away from the microphone, only to look back. A young woman in the crowd, wearing a pink dress, raised a single thumb. Hordak did not recognize this strange gesture, although he did recognize the woman as Princess Perfuma.

“ _Suffer_ ,” Hordak muttered loudly. The jury looked upon him, eyes wide. Even the Queen tilted her head slightly, looking at Hordak. For a moment, he felt as though he were laid bare before the entire courtroom, covering himself entirely with his crossed arms.

Scorpia cleared her throat into the microphone, which sent another wave of screeching and whining through the courtroom. Hordak covered his ears with great efficiency this time, completely resisting the sound until it had faded from the room. Scorpia’s eyes were wide, her claws chattering quickly. She looked away from the microphone, and cleared her throat once again, this time not causing enormous feedback.

Mermista, clearing her own throat, opened a book. She looked to the former Force Captain. Scorpia gave her a staggered nod, and turned to the microphone.

“Princess Scorpia, please tell us of how Hordak treated you.” 

“Well,” she said. “He was never the most personable type, you know? I-I never quite understood Hordak, I don’t think. I don’t really know that he wanted to be u-understood so much as obeyed. Hordak was always telling people to get out, he was ordering people around, but he wasn’t really hands-on. He stayed in his sanctum. He promoted Shadow Weaver, a-and Catra. He didn’t _hurt_ me, but I know he was hurting Catra.” 

The figure in the red cloak turned away from Hordak. The clone simply gave them a passing look, and then turned back to Scorpia. She stammered over a couple words, and began to speak. 

“I don’t know too much about Hordak, honestly.” 

“So, you’re alleging that Hordak was mistreating his underlings?” 

“I mean, n-not all of them! Hordak never hurt me. He never laid a hand on me, and I don’t actually think he laid a hand on anyone. He didn’t like touching people. He just sat in his sanctum. He’s not that bad a guy, honest!” 

“Did Hordak keep you in fear of Princesses?” 

“Well, yeah. I guess you could say that. H-he had propaganda saying that the Princesses would hurt us, that they would reject us all. Me, in particular, though. Shadow Weaver always said it, and when I asked him about it, he said that the Princesses would never accept me.” 

Hordak looked down at his hands. He could not recall that conversation, but he had no reason to presume the ease with which Scorpia would be forgiven. Why would the Princesses accept a traitor amongst their ranks, one who had served the Horde willingly for years? In Prime’s armada, a traitor would be mind-wiped in his most merciful of moments. 

In Prime’s armada. Hordak took care to remind himself of that, that little fact that his perceptions were warped compared to those of the Etherians. He cursed himself for not having seen such a failing sooner. It was a leap of logic based on an entirely different experience. 

“So, how did Hordak treat his soldiers?” 

“It’s weird. He was grumpy, he was mean, but he was nice to them? We were well-fed, trained to fight. Shadow Weaver wasn’t exactly nice, but she was on her best behavior most of the time he was around. Hordak always treated the recruits like normal people, like kids.” 

“Kids?” Mermista asked. “As Force Captain, you would, like, have a firsthand look into the way Hordak raised child soldiers, right?” 

There were gasps amongst the jury. His other crimes, they surely knew of, but raising child soldiers, Hordak assumed, was new to them. He clasped his hands, placing them over his mouth and narrowing his vision. 

“Hordak didn’t like interacting with the kids. In fact, he seemed to do it almost as a courtesy? He took in kids, he took in strays. Sometimes, when there were, uh, unnecessary casualties on the missions, Hordak would specifically ask to take in the kids. He wouldn’t put them into the field too soon.” 

“I see,” Mermista said. “So he took children in to train them to fight his war.” 

Well, when she put it that way, Hordak supposed it was quite wrong. Still, what was he to do? Abandon the children to the streets? He had given them a life, made them a home, and made them into weapons. 

He had made people into weapons. 

_Just like Prime._

“I guess you could say that?” Scorpia said, shrugging. 

“Anyways, one final question from the prosecution. What about the relationship between Hordak and his subordinate Entrapta?” 

“ _Objection_!” Adora exclaimed, pointing her finger toward Mermista. The prosecution leapt back as if struck by an arrow.

“Objection?” Mermista asked, typically flippant.

“We went through this line of questioning in the preliminary trials!”

“Whatever, Adora. You’d left the Horde a while before Entrapta joined. You wouldn’t know.”

“Well,” Scorpia said under her breath. “Hordak spent a long time in his sanctum, and he spent a lot of time with Entrapta. He wouldn’t let anyone else come in, but somehow, she was okay. I don’t know what they did in there, but I’m guessing…”

Scorpia looked at Hordak’s narrowed vision, staring directly toward her. She backed away from the microphone momentarily, and then shook her head. She approached the microphone again. “...they were doing science?”

“There you have it,” Mermista said. “If anything’s proof that Hordak and Entrapta carried on a torrid affair--”

“ _Objection_!” Adora exclaimed, pointing even more intensely. Mermista nearly hurled herself against the table in dramatic response.

“Sustained!” Glimmer exclaimed. “Mermista, you are strangely fixated on deducing the relationship between Hordak and Entrapta; a relationship that is of no consequence to this trial.”

“Uh, I’d argue otherwise,” Mermista said. Hordak widened his eyes. She was about to say something. “Your Honor. Knowing Entrapta, it was probably easy for Hordak to manipulate her--”

“ _Objection_ ,” Hordak said, accompanied by a strike of thunder.

“Excuse me?” Mermista asked.

Hordak had risen from his seat, standing tall. The jury audibly gasped as he stood, hands on the desk, which slowly cracked beneath his touch. Adora looked at him, and he turned to her, snarling quietly.

“May I speak to the defense?” asked the defendant.

Glimmer looked at him. She nodded to Adora. The savior of Etheria leaned in close.

“Please,” Hordak said quietly and calmly, even as two pieces of the desk broke off in his hands. “Request that she besmirch the name of Princess Entrapta no more.”

Adora nodded. “The defendant calls for the prosecution to end this line of questioning immediately, on the grounds that it is insulting and irrelevant.”

“The judge agrees,” Glimmer said.

The jury, however did not. That quickly became evident when they cried out, exclaiming foul things of Hordak. The clone took a seat, and then noticed an oddity.

Amongst the jury, he saw one of them, wearing the long white cloak. They sat in uncomfortable silence. It flowed in rhythm with the rain, and even upon their face they wore the white mask. Adora followed his gaze, and saw the mysterious figure as well. Hordak turned aside, hoping not to see it anymore.

“Tell us more!” exclaimed a member of the jury. Ah, such salaciousness. If there was an advantage to having trials, it was that the thirst of the jury amused Hordak.

Glimmer snapped her fingers, unleashing a burst of pink, sparkling light. The jury went silent. Adora looked to Scorpia, and nodded.

“The defense will question the witness,” Glimmer said. “The prosecution will stop making insinuations about the nature of the relationship between Hordak and Entrapta, because it makes the Queen’s head hurt.”

As if on cue, Hordak experienced a slight twinge of pain in his head as well. He rubbed his hand against his head, and Adora nodded to him. Hordak could only wonder what life would be like if he had not saved this very child. He would admit, he was quite sure it had been due to selfish reasons. Prime had not been there, and Adora had been a consolation prize. Yet, even now, she amazed him.

“Tell me, Scorpia, what happened when you first met Hordak?”

Scorpia looked flustered. “I don’t really remember that,” she said. “I just remember my moms sending me off to work with him when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting,” Adora said. “So, tell me, what did your mothers tell you about Lord Hordak? I mean, Hordak.”

“Well, I remember them, um, they told me that we had surrendered, but that it was a good thing.”

“Can I be of assistance?” Hordak asked. “I would be the only one in this room who could recall my encounter with Scorpia’s mothers.”

“Objection!” Mermista exclaimed. “Who’s to say his account will be accurate?”

“A valid concern,” Hordak conceded. “Still, I would argue that even told by me this story is not flattering.”

The truth, however, was that it was a blur to him. So many years had passed, so many lifetimes. Hordak dug through his mind, hoping to find it before they truly scrutinized him. The former leader of the Horde clenched his hands, looking at the pieces of the table he had inadvertently removed. Finally, he sighed, clawing out the memory.

“Go ahead,” Glimmer said. “As he stated, nobody else would remember. His account is the only one we have to go on, and a little information is better than none. Even if the source is notoriously unreliable.”

Hordak nodded. The search through his years of memories had taken something out of him. “Can everyone hear me?” he asked loudly.

The jury nodded. Hordak nodded as well. He recalled it all.

The fresh scent of lilac had been the first thing he could remember. The walls were painted pink and red. The guards outside had asked his name. Hordak looked upon them, and spat upon their blasphemy. A _name_ was a privilege reserved for Horde Prime.

Yet there had been an emptiness when they had asked, and perhaps that was what enraged him. On so many worlds, he had heard so many names. He had known it was wrong, yet just for a moment, he had wanted a name of his own. No matter the explanation, he had understood the rage, and he had tossed them aside as though they were of no consequence whatsoever. Dozens had come for Hordak, but he had been strong at that time; stronger, at least, than he was now.

It had been simply a process of dispatching the guards, although he had taken care not to kill a single one. He had approached the two Queens of the Kingdom, and, without a moment’s hesitation, he had approached them. They drew weapons, and it was then he had seen her. Little Scorpia, the smallest baby in the world, a white spit-curl for hair. Before that moment, he had been tempted to simply end their lives.

When he had seen her, however, something had changed. Instead, he simply walked past the armed Queens of the Kingdom. They looked at him in confusion, and with a single blow, a decisive strike, Hordak shattered their golden throne; it was a blow that merely bruised his knuckles. Then, he had turned to the rulers of the Kingdom, and delivered unto them two words that would define his life.

_Get out._

It was then that Hordak chose to exposit to the people of the courtroom. With a clarity of voice, the conqueror spoke. The jury appeared enraptured, clinging to his every word as though it shocked them that he could speak at all. Perhaps they had expected a rabid animal.

“I dispatched their guards and I smashed their throne. I took their Kingdom for myself and deemed it the Fright Zone, without a drop of blood spilled.”

That, at least, he was certain of for a moment. It was then, as Hordak took his seat, that his mind was flooded by thoughts which he was sure could not have occurred. He looked upon his hands, and found them stained. His mind was cracked by the thought of ending the lives of the Scorpion Kingdom’s rulers; in spite of that, however, Scorpia had stated she had known them. It seemed one of them was incorrect.

Hordak knew better than to trust his own mind. He shut his eyes, and in a moment, the thought which intruded upon him had disappeared. He knew quite well that he had not harmed them, and that he had spared their lives. This was merely an error.

Scorpia, after a few moments of conversation, left the stand. The defendant did not know any witnesses further down the line. Hordak clasped his hands over his mouth, and examined the jury’s responses.

There was a rhythm to it. A witness took the stand, they told the jury of what Hordak had done; how he had taken from them their homes, their spouses, their siblings, their parents. The Horde had burned down their villages. Every one of them told of innumerable wounded and dead, and Hordak could only watch.

They were just numbers, Hordak reminded himself. The witnesses spoke so heavily of them, but to their murderer, they were numbers. A chill ran down Hordak’s spine every time another was added to a count, a count which quickly grew past what Hordak could count while keeping focus. There were people of innumerable cultures.

For some, it was merely destruction. It was homes, collateral damage. It could be rebuilt. For others, lives lost that could never be regained. He had not exited the sanctum in so many years; he rejected their blame.

Mermista slung thinly-veiled insults toward him. Adora defended him as vocally as she could. Hordak merely sat. Although he had known it would be something of a show, he had expected more of Bright Moon’s justice than a spat between two Princesses.

Princesses. What Princesses had been to him before Entrapta. His enemy, most certainly, although Scorpia served as an exception. They had been strong warriors, ruler of the Kingdoms which had opposed him, yet they had scattered. He could scarcely recall his first meeting with a Princess that had channeled the power of their Runestone.

They had been obstacles. Now, one remained as his obstacle, and the other defended him. Quite the irony.

After a time, it was all the same. The witness came. They spoke of how the Horde had harmed them. Adora had argued in the warlord’s defense, and Mermista had twisted it every time into a defeat. It seemed the people would not listen, even to their savior. Hordak’s eyes looked between the two, examining the jury in hopes he may find the white-cloaked figure. Alas, they had disappeared again.

Then, he observed Bow. The archer was at the top of his game today, passing through dozens of files and presenting them to Glimmer. No more was there a strange, false sense of stupidity to his actions, replaced instead by warmth and efficiency combined. Hordak had always thought them opposites. Curious that he now found them in this mixture.

There were moments of note throughout the proceedings, moments which deviated from the norm. Perhaps the strangest among them was when a horse, likely the loyal steed of Adora, took the witness stand. Rather than making comments on the current trial, he instead launched into a series of what Hordak supposed were likely meant to be jokes. When asked by the prosecution to describe his encounters with the former warlord, he had instead launched into what he called a “roast” of Hordak. A few gentle jokes at the expense of Hordak’s pallor passed, and on the fifth one, Glimmer personally teleported the horse out of the courtroom.

In the back of the courtroom, he saw Kyle, gently nuzzling the chest of the reptilian man known as Rogelio. On the back of Rogelio was his beloved companion, Imp; a clone of himself. Hordak had assumed Prime would be impressed with the work.

Now, he supposed he was merely fortunate Prime had never met Imp. The impurity of the creature would likely have angered him. That, he knew, was merely his fear speaking.

It seemed Hordak could not entirely shut down his fear.

As another witness left the stand, the clap of thunder startled Hordak. He barely kept himself in his chair. The jury looked amongst themselves, and the juror in the red cloak seemed almost to be startled as well. Two protrusions atop their head were visible, poking at the hood of the cloak. Before Hordak could ponder it, he watched as the next witness, a young person with stringy hair and a fair complexion, left the witness stand.

“May I talk to the jury?” asked Mermista.

Glimmer took a moment. Bow presented her with something on his data pad. She looked at it, and then down to Mermista.

“Go ahead,” the Queen said.

“Thank you,” Mermista responded warmly.

Hordak clenched his fists. He knew what was coming. That did not mean it would hurt any less.

“You all see it too, now. Lord Hordak is a threat to Etheria. He took something from everyone and everything from some of us. He led a war. The defense would propose we let him go free after what he’s done. I disagree. Someone like him doesn’t have a place here.”

Hordak had known always that this would be the suggestion. They would not end his life, but they would do the thing nearest to it. The rain began to die down as Mermista gestured toward the jury.

“We’re fixing Etheria after years of damage thanks to this man. Are we just going to let him stay on it after what he did?”

The jury whispered amongst themselves, louder than before. Mermista extended both her hands, and clenched them into fists. Hordak felt his shoulders grow tense.

It was not as though he desired this. Yet, despite his earlier protests, it all made an odd sort of sense to him. It would bring him misery, yet it would free so many. It was simply logical.

“Let me put it this way. Would _Hordak_ tolerate it if somebody fell into the Fright Zone and destroyed the whole thing? Or do you think he would have them exiled to Beast Island? Hordak would have them cast out.”

“ _Cast out the shadows_ ,” Hordak said aloud.

An inexplicable compulsion washed over him. His entire body began to shake, and he dug his nails into his skin. It was as though he sought to tear his mind from his form, scratching down his arms. He caught a glimpse of the red-cloaked juror, who looked to Adora, frantically shaking their head.

“I call for a recess!” Adora exclaimed suddenly. “The defendant is in no condition to continue the trial.”

Mermista pointed toward him. He could feel his fingers break his skin slightly, and he held in an urge to yelp in pain. Another moment, he knew, and he would be pure.

“I agree,” Glimmer said. “We’re tired. I’ll double down on that, actually. The court is adjourned for today. We all need to take a break and conduct this more civilly.”

Hordak stumbled out the door, unsure of his surroundings. The polished floors and the golden walls, polished and cleaned by machines, they struck him as pure. The clone detested the feeling, the convulsing of his body and the chattering of his teeth alike disgusted him.

“Come on,” Adora said, reaching for Hordak’s hand.

Hordak, shaking, took it. It was bizarre, the sensation alien to his form, yet he was quite unsure whether he could return to his cell without it. The world passed by, the murmurs combining with the chanting in an inferno of torment, and at last, he was set upon his futon. Adora released his hand, and he could not stop shaking.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Cast out the shadows,” Hordak repeated. “All beings--”

“What’s wrong, Hordak?”

“No!” he screamed. “Please…”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Lay down, please.”

At least the thunder was gone, he supposed. Still, as he laid down upon the futon, his back arching slightly, Hordak could not help but look upon his hands. They dripped with cold green liquid. He could hear the voices again, and although he tried to shut them out, he could not resist them.

“All b-beings. Suffer. Become… pure.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down, Hordak.”

Hordak reached out inexplicably, grasping only air. Once more did he suppress an urge to scream. His body spasmed, outside of his control entirely.

“It’s okay,” Adora said. “It’s okay.”

He knew better than to think it alright. These things were clear to him, clear as day. He had gone from Prime’s armada to Etheria, but it had not changed him. He remained impure.

“I must _suffer_!” he bellowed.

“No,” she said.

Two warm hands pressed against his own. Adora glowed, her very form resplendent. Hordak could feel the shaking ease slowly, and the thoughts leave him. His vision blurred, his eyes flickered between open and shut. After a couple seconds, he felt the last of the spasms fade out. He panted, his eyes wide.

“Hordak, your eyes. They’re darker than before. They’re…”

Adora created a mirror from thin air. In it, Hordak saw that his eyes had become brown. He gasped.

“No,” he said.

He had been repaired. It seemed such a thing came only to those deserving of healing. Now, once more he was falling from grace. How honestly karmic a punishment.

He pressed a hand to his shoulder, which twitched briefly. He looked at himself in the mirror. His makeup had set properly, his appearance repaired. His hands, he pressed into the shredded cushions below.

“What happened?”

“It appears Mermista said something which caused me an inexplicable mental response.”

“Hordak, I don’t think you can do this anymore.”

“We cannot stop the trial.”

“But you’re practically falling apart. Your memories are messed up, your eyes are brown. You basically just had a panic attack in the middle of the court.”

“If we stop the trial, they will simply come for Entrapta. I will not ruin her life to sate my own interests.”

“Why can’t you apply that to yourself?” Adora asked. “Why does it have to be Entrapta? Why do you have to suffer?”

“ _All_ beings must suffer to become pure.”

“Hordak, that purity is a lie. There is no purity.”

“Yet it is all around me. Pure good, pure evil. Hordak the conqueror, Hordak the murderer. Hordak the friend, Hordak the lab partner. I am trapped.”

“Trapped?” Adora asked.

“Indeed. I freed myself of Prime, but I did it only to save Entrapta. My care for her is an error I cannot rectify. Thanks to that error, I turned on Prime. Now I stand unable to join the side of good and unable to join that of evil.”

“Loving Entrapta isn’t an error. Hordak, Prime was a monster. He used you. He manipulated you.”

“Was he wrong?”

Adora stammered. Her eyes flickered around the room. She breathed heavily into her hands. “Yes! Yes, of course Prime was wrong!”

“Then why do I not feel it, Adora? Why do I not feel an irrepressible urge for penance? All my research, everything I have ever looked for, it says only that murderers feel remorse. I have known only one who has felt none.”

“Horde Prime.”

“Think of it. Wrong Hordak, he who you took in my place. Wrong Hordak changed in only a few days. He became good. I landed on Etheria. I was here for years, Adora, and never did I even think of changing my course. It took Entrapta to make me want to change, and it was only to be with her. Face it, Adora. I am defective in service to Prime and defective in service to Etheria.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is it not? Even after I landed, I fought. I conquered. I did as Prime did, and I did it in his name. I stand at a crossroads, Adora, yet each path is barred before me. I can go down neither the path of good nor of evil; I am too incompetent and compassionate to go back to conquering, and too cold and cruel to turn to good. There is no place for me on Etheria.”

“Hordak, it’s not that way.”

“Isn’t it? Think of me. Am I any different than any other villain? Name the difference between me and Shadow Weaver? My motivations were selfish. I seek to find my own identity, to make my own name, yet all I have done with that name is drag it through the mud.”

“Shadow Weaver would never have saved me, not if there was nothing to gain.”

Hordak looked at her. He could recall that clear as day. Even as every other memory faded, he could remember picking the child up from the field.

No. This was not proof of some inner good. It could not be.

“You think I saved you because I wanted to, child? You were nothing. You were a consolation prize, and nothing more! A poor substitute for a message from my Brother!”

Her eyes widened. She backed away, and Hordak looked at his hands. They did not drip of the liquid any longer, yet he could not help but feel as though an error had been made.

“I lost my temper,” he said. “I did not mean that. You are extremely impressive. You are, after all, the savior of Etheria.”

“Hordak, I’m not the only one who saved Etheria. You saved me, and you killed Prime. You saved Etheria too.”

“Perhaps I did,” he said. “I did so only for selfish reasons. I wanted Entrapta because she made me happy in a way other things did not. She made me feel safe. I will not deny that my actions are good, but Mermista is right. My motives are rooted only in cruelty and defectiveness.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said.

“I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“I lashed out at you when I should not have. It was not my intention to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.”

Hordak rose from the futon, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. With a motion in the air, he interfaced with the mirror. He opened a holographic display, and several notifications were projected onto the screen in bright blue. He supposed these were most likely the files Adora had acquired from Prime’s database.

“Adora?” Hordak asked, turning back to her.

“Get out?”

“No. I want you here while I do this. It will be hard for me.”

First among the files was one which chronicled the tactical division. It wrote only that which Hordak knew, although with a curious detail. It appeared Prime had personally written the reports. They had his inflection and a small portrait of his four-eyed visage stood above them. Adora shuffled nervously behind him, audibly pacing across the floor.

 _The tactical division was a blight_ , said the file. _It is strange that I even kept it around, yet the clone general H11-7158 was among the greatest in my ranks. That was, until he began his protestations. Dozens of times, I purified him, yet it would not remain. I could not simply end him as I had the science division. It was a peculiarity, an impurity I needed to correct_.

Hordak quietly muttered of impurity. Adora looked to him nervously, rolling her fingers in and out in what was perhaps an expression of apprehension. Hordak looked upon the report once more.

_I pushed H11-7158 as hard as I could. He wiped out dozens of civilizations on my orders, yet never could I get him to do so without reaching into his mind and swaying his thoughts. Even as it grew into a simple normality, he would never strike them until I influenced him. In fact, I believe it occurred so often he began to mistake my touch for his own. I discovered an intriguing response, however, the first time I saw him to the work himself._

Hordak gasped. Indeed, Horde Prime had forced him to wipe out countless people. It was a strange relief, the knowledge that he had not chosen to do so. That relief faded when he recalled that, controlled or not, it had still been he that had committed the crimes. To feel relief was to profane their losses.

 _After my other soldiers had taken their valuables and their recipes, I had H11-7158 eliminate the prince of a certain pestilent race. He had begged for mercy, and H11-7158 had granted him said mercy. It did not take even a slight mental push to get him to fire upon the noble, until he saw the prince’s son behind him. It was then that I realized what the defect of H11-7158 was, that which drove him so to defy me. He had developed what most civilizations would call a_ “conscience.” _I had one as well, in the distant past, but I had long since shed that impurity._

Hordak wondered what that would have been like. Horde Prime, with a conscience? If any man with a conscience could shed it, then perhaps it would suit his needs to do the same.

_First, I manipulated that failure of his. I convinced him to make me strategies and technologies which would make things easier for me. Then, I sent H11-7158 to the front lines to die. I disbanded the tactical division after downloading all of his information. His conscience had caused within me an insecurity. I wanted to watch him die to ease it. Instead, I found him sent to another dimension thanks to a portal. Thus ends the tragedy of the tactical division, a black mark smeared across an otherwise perfect assembly of clones._

Hordak supposed that he had indeed been head of the tactical division. At the very least, that was a stable part of his memory. Although it was unpleasant, there was something calming in the fact he knew, at least, that he had been who he claimed himself to be.

“You alright?” Adora asked.

“I must read the next file,” he said.

Hordak opened the next file. The one on Horde soldier H11-7158, known to Etheria as Lord Hordak. He saw his portrait, several dozen images of himself in different stages of degeneration. He saw his eyes go from bright green to harsh red. It was matter of months, perhaps even years, reduced to a series of images.

There were seven total logs on Hordak. He opened the first one. It was merely two lines long.

 _H11-7158, my best general, appears to have a neural defect. The purification ritual should repair it_.

He opened the second.

_H11-7158’s neural defect has not been repaired. In addition, he appears to be atrophying physically as well, at an exceptionally slow rate. I thought to address it via genetic alteration, yet I do not appear to have the technology._

It seemed Prime had intended to repair Hordak’s defects all along. Just as Hordak had presumed, it was that he did not have the ability to. That was something he had claimed he was able to do upon reaching Etheria. As always, it seemed Prime’s words were more powerful than his actions. Hordak opened the third log.

_H11-7158 is irreparable, it appears. However, I intend to research this neural defect extensively. Then I will send him to the front lines and watch him perish. I believe it will be cathartic._

Hordak supposed that sounded accurate.

_It has all gone wrong!_

Quite the beginning to the fourth log.

_I sent the flawed clone to the front lines, but a portal took him from me. I know not where he is, but I must track him down! If he escapes my grasp, he could be anywhere in the galaxy, tarnishing my image. Yet, his location is unknown even to me. I do not like knowledge being withheld from my grasp. I will find H11-7158, and I will personally see to it that he is reconditioned._

On, Hordak supposed, to the fifth.

_A breakthrough. I have discovered the ability to genetically repair H11-7158. This has eased the pain, but I must find him. It has been four months since the last log, and at last, I shall locate him and purge this imperfection from his unholy being._

Ah, such a statement. Hordak scoffed, his brown eyes reflected in the bright blue of the holographic log’s surface. The sixth, he opened. The first thing he noted was that it was, in fact, dated earlier that very year.

_Etheria returned to our galaxy from a starless dimension. I found H11-7158. I repaired the traitorous general, purged him of his memories and took from him his name. Yet, as I searched through the abomination’s mind, I found something intriguing. He has a beloved. More than that, his perception of his memories has become negative and unreliable, influenced by his own self-hatred. I thought I may repress that as well in the purification ritual, but I have decided not to. There is something satisfying in seeing him squirm._

Yet another mistake that had come to spell Prime’s end. If he had been without his sadism, without the urge to see Hordak suffer, he would have won. Instead, he had chosen to torture the conqueror. Hordak turned to the final log.

_I can say with great joy that the conquest of Etheria is nigh! I shall annihilate this filthy backwater with its own magical weapon courtesy of my ancient prey, the First Ones, and I shall make “Hordak” slay his own beloved. After that, if he survives, I shall lock him away in a cell with only the memory that he killed her. It will be proof of my grace and superiority, and I will watch as he suffers._

_Yet, I cannot deny that in a way, I am proud of him. Were this to fail, and I am sure it will not, I would choose the defective clone to be my successor. After all, although he betrayed me throughout his time in Etheria, I cannot deny how impressive his accomplishments are. Of course, I say this only hypothetically. After all, I would never let another sit on my throne._

Hordak damned his progenitor.

“What is it?” Adora asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. Horde Prime did not sabotage me. I have painted my own memories in a darker light. It is me who is untrustworthy, not Prime.”

“Hordak…”

“You cannot fix my memories. There is nothing left to fix.”

“I understand,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I thought it was that Prime had done one last thing. I thought he had reached into my mind once more and corrupted me. However, it was me. It was only me, all along.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What I am is not up to you.”

“I thought I could fix it.”

“There is no fixing it. I must stand strong in the trial, even as I grow weaker.”

“We’ll keep going tomorrow. I think Glimmer will have a tighter witness selection. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that. I’m sure it hurt.”

“Hurt?” Hordak asked. “No. No, it didn’t hurt.”

“What?”

“It was strange, but it did not hurt.”

“Hordak, that was dozens of people, and they all told you, what you did, I don’t get it.”

“Yet it did not hurt. I suppose I had not understood it before, but I now recognize what I have done, and I… I don’t believe it hurt me at all.”

“Hordak, I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. Please leave. I need this time to myself.”

“O-okay.”

With that, she left the room. Hordak swiped to the right, dispelling the holographic files. He looked into the mirror. As the door shut, he saw in the reflection a new silhouette.

The door opened again in a moment. The gentle pattering of rain against his window irked him slightly, but he could hardly bother with it. He took a deep breath, and noted that the person who entered now had a cyan outfit, accompanied by one in a blue one. Through merely a moment’s deduction, he realized this was Mermista and Sea Hawk entering his room.

“Why have you come here?” he asked.

“Well!” Sea Hawk exclaimed, raising his hand as if to speechify.

“No,” Hordak said. “I want to hear it from _her_.”

Mermista looked at the floor. Hordak took his seat on the futon, crossing his legs and arms alike. Sea Hawk looked at him without even a bit of fear. The former warlord was unsure whether that was courage or stupidity. Either way, he had to admit it was impressive.

“He wanted me to talk to you,” Mermista said. “You remind him of his ex-boyfriend or whatever.”

“I said nothing of the sort!” Sea Hawk exclaimed.

Hordak now rested his arms along the back of the futon. His legs remained crossed, and he clenched his jaw. These two had surely sought audience with him for a reason, and he was in no position to refuse an audience with the prosecution.

“You thought it,” Mermista said, poking Sea Hawk’s face. The poking prompted Sea Hawk to giggle quietly.

“Intriguing,” Hordak said. “Would you like a chair? I could arrange one to be brought in.”

“Whatever,” Mermista said.

“Mermista,” pleaded Sea Hawk, eyes wide and mouth drooping. “You said you’d give him a chance.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Yeah, yeah. Sea Hawk believes you deserve a chance to explain your case.”

Mermista had visible tremors in her hands. Her teeth chattered at varying intervals. Sea Hawk, however, did not even appear nervous.

“May I dismiss Sea Hawk?” he asked.

Sea Hawk nodded quickly, and left the room. Now, Mermista stood across from the defendant. She assumed a more dignified composure, and Hordak gestured toward the other side of the futon. She reluctantly sat down.

“It was rude of Sea Hawk to force you to talk with me.”

“He didn’t force me,” she said. “He gave me those stupid puppy-dog eyes and I couldn’t help it. He’s a good guy.”

“I believe you.”

“You seem calm. What was that in the courtroom? That little freakout you had? I didn’t get much of it, but I caught you on the way out.”

“Merely a quirk.”

“Okay, okay.”

There was silence between the two of them. Hordak adjusted his position, resting his back against the arm of the futon. He looked into her eyes. The movement seemed more rapid than before, as though she was trying to focus yet found herself incapable of it.

“I think I agree with you,” he said.

Mermista took a moment, gulping. She looked around the room in confusion, and then back to Hordak. The murderer placed his hands against the torn cushions.

“What did you do to this futon?” she asked.

“An unfortunate accident,” he responded. “I am not entirely capable of controlling my rage.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Mermista gulped again, and began rolling her fingers in the same way Adora had. Hordak pressed a hand to his forehead, and then looked upon her. He supposed that she needed to be as calm as he was, lest she render him irritable as well.

“Please, do not be afraid,” he said.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said, looking away.

“You are. From the way you move, to the way you speak, to the way you make your arguments. Your very character is rooted in fear, Mermista, fear drawn from a lack of properly dealing with what I had done to you.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Clearly, I dealt with things just fine.”

“What did you do?”

“I sat in a tub and ate ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” he asked.

“Yeah. You’ve never eaten ice cream?”

“Of course not. I fed myself through tubes, and I can go weeks without food. Prime trained us specifically with that ability.”

“He _starved_ you?”

“I suppose in Etheria, the proper terminology would be starvation. Delicacies were reserved for Prime, his guests, and his… _consorts_. We were fed nutrient-rich amniotic fluid. I patterned my own ration bars after it, and fed myself with them.”

“Wow.”

“It is of little concern. Again, I would like to say you should not be afraid of me.”

“I’m not!” she protested.

“Princess, you sat in a tub and ate ice cream after I attacked your Kingdom. My war did not merely take Salineas. It took from you the ability to process your fear properly.”

“Okay?”

“You knew me as a myth for years. ‘Lord Hordak, the leader of the Evil Horde.’ I was a monster to you, a beast spawned from your most bleak nightmares.”

“Don’t you miss that?”

“Some days,” he said. “Some days I think it would be easier to destroy all things. I will not pretend I understand the world.”

“You said you agree with me?”

“There is no place for me on Etheria,” he said, followed by his eyes darting to his hands. “Your suggestion of exile is a fitting punishment.”

“You’re awfully talkative.”

“Adora has done something to me. It was… therapeutic.”

“Oh, I’m gonna guess you used your space monster magic on--”

“Mermista, _please_. We both know quite well that I have no magical charm. I would argue that I have no charm whatsoever.”

“Fine.”

“Mermista, you are afraid of me. Most of Etheria is. I say they have every right to be. Adora would protest that treatment, but I have done things that many of them will never forgive. Allow me to remind you, however, that I am not the only one who commanded the Horde. I was not alone at Salineas.”

“Catra’s different,” Mermista said.

“How is she different?” the defendant asked. “I do not mean that rhetorically. I cannot wrap my mind around the way people like Catra and Glimmer are pardoned, yet I am not.”

“Because… because you were in charge. They wouldn’t have been that way without you!”

The rain grew more intense, and Hordak sat up straighter. He watched tremors return to his hands. Adora’s respite had been brief, it seemed, and he knew that he was growing harsher. Even his voice seemed to turn from calm to cruel once more, as it had been in the Fright Zone.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked. “Something I have not told anyone else? Not even Entrapta?”

Mermista sighed. “Go ahead.”

“I am scared of thunderstorms.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I am not sure why I am so afraid of them, yet every time I see lightning course through the skies and feel rain against my skin, I experience fear.”

“That’s… weird.”

“It is! I do not understand it. Why am I so afraid of the natural workings of Etheria? It is not wind that I am afraid of, not rain itself. No, it is only thunderstorms.”

“Why should I care?”

“I want you to know, Mermista. I want you to know that I am just like you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Alright,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Not _just_ like you. But I experience fear as much as any Etherian. I am not a monster; far from it. I am simply a failed clone.”

“Failed?”

“I was defective. Prime cast me out. Every day, I come a little closer to thinking I deserved it.”

“You’re a failed clone? He starved you and he kicked you out?”

“He had memory repression rituals as well, although I found them inefficient. He gathered the clones around, and he tormented us. I do not even think it was truly to repress us. No, I think if it were he would have found far better methods. It was to make a display of us. To say that this was what happened to failures and traitors.”

“That’s messed up. That sounds really messed up. Wow. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he responded. “I don’t want your pity, not even for a moment, as I am sure you don’t want mine. I wanted you to know I am just as afraid as you are.”

“You destroyed my home,” she said.

Hordak simply shook his head. “I’ve done that to countless. It is why I believe you are right to fear and despise me, yet you no longer need to. If it would ease your fear, I bid you cast me out as you please.”

“I… thank you?”

Hordak chuckled again. It was a rarity, laughter; Horde Prime had been the only one amongst the Galactic Horde permitted the privilege of joy, and thus he had, even as he had betrayed the ideals of his Brother in a desperate desire to return to him, Hordak had kept to that. Joy could only be granted unto him by Prime himself, and thus he would not permit himself to laugh. Occasionally, a smile slipped through the cracks.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Do your best work in that courtroom and let justice prevail.”

Mermista rose from the futon, and walked toward the door. There was a brief glance shared between the two as the door opened, and she exited. Before the door had even shut, she was pounced upon by Sea Hawk, who hugged her as tightly as he could. Hordak simply sighed as he adjusted his position again, now laying across the futon.

“You can come out now,” he said.

Past his window, the shadow of the figure darted. Then, he saw them, their white cloak clear on display. Springing into action, Hordak toppled the futon.  
He stopped inches from the window, but once again the cloaked figure was gone. The clone snarled, raising his fist. He decided, however, that it was not worth it to shatter the window again to pursue this illusion.

If they were real, as Adora had suggested, they would reveal themselves in time. While they would linger, the conqueror would let them trouble his thoughts no more. He returned to the futon, and, once it was back up, laid upon it. He crossed his arms across his chest.

He did not sleep. In sleep, Prime could reach him again. Sleep would come to him eventually, but Hordak would not yet submit to it.

The only thing which could comfort him was the knowledge that Entrapta yet lived. None would harm her if all went correctly, and he would face punishment for his misdeeds. It was a sacrifice, but it was one he would need to make.

If he were exiled, it would ensure the safety of not only Entrapta, but his brethren. Without the sneaking suspicion among the people that any one of them could be Hordak, they would be free to live the lives they deserved. Besides, he knew better than to assume there was any other path.

Hordak had exiled people to Beast Island. Now, the same thing would happen to him. Dozens of files on Etheria stated they believed in an idea of “poetic justice.” Now, it seemed Hordak would experience that firsthand.

Hordak had never been a man of poetry or literature. Prime had been the only one in the Galactic Horde permitted to read poetry. It seemed he had been an avid collector of art, yet he cared not for those who created it. Hordak figured that in all likelihood, Prime was enraged by the fact he himself could not make art, and so he had chosen to take it from others.

That was the nature of men like Prime. They could not create, so they took and they destroyed. It was, in its purest form, childish and obsessive narcissism. That, Hordak knew, was the fundamental similarity between himself and Prime, perhaps the greatest thing shared between them. Each of them were driven in a way by fear.

Hordak had always been afraid that Prime would never come for him, that Prime had never cared. That fear had been validated ten times over. In that way, he supposed he and Prime were almost the same. Prime’s fear had been validated as well, the fear that he was not above all others. There was a difference.

Hordak sometimes wondered, when the world grew cold, whether Prime had someone akin to himself in his life. He wondered if Prime had once been a puppet himself, if Prime had overthrown something even worse in his road to becoming a tyrant. When the world was especially cruel to him, he wondered if perhaps they had been the same once.

Those, he knew, were questions for historians.

It was now that Hordak wondered how history would remember him. If he were exiled, he would forever be seen as a conqueror. That was, to him, a nightmare. It would hurt him so, so deeply to see his name in every log, every book, as a villain. Yet, he took comfort in the knowledge that he could fear the future.

At least he knew he had a future to fear.


	4. Be Forever Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This is a content warning for this chapter, as well as the next two.** These three chapters deal with **suicidal themes and thoughts.** It is a heavier topic than the prior fare of this story. When we envisioned The Trial of Hordak, it was always intended to reach this point. (As such, we have altered the content rating from Teen to Mature.) These final few chapters are not entirely a comfortable read, with more extensive psychological horror, touching on abuse and themes of suicide. There is nothing graphic in nature featured in these final few chapters, but we understand that the content may be upsetting or disturbing to some readers. If this content would deeply upset or trigger you, please, do not read the ensuing chapter or the two after. We of TeaWithNyarlathotep would rather you miss the conclusion of our story than you be upset or psychologically triggered by this content.
> 
> We of TeaWithNyarlathotep can only hope we have done these heavy themes justice. Please, if you are afflicted with a desire to harm or kill yourself, or experience abuse, _call the numbers below._ You should not be ashamed to seek help, _ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> National Suicide Prevention Hotline -- 1-800-273-8255  
> Crisis Text Line -- Text Hello to 741741  
> Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline -- 1-800-422-4453  
> YouthLine -- Text teen2teen to 839863, or call 1-877-968-8491  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline -- 1-800-799-7233  
> National Deaf Domestic Violence Hotline -- 1-855-812-1001  
> RAINN -- 1-800-656-4673  
> The Trevor Project -- 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678678  
> Trans Lifeline -- 1-877-565-8860

According to Hordak’s observation, Adora was obsessed with winning.

She had paced across the floor as though caged for an hour now. She sought to find a way to defend him, to undo the prosecution’s argument in its entirety. She wanted to achieve utter victory.

Hordak, however, was not interested in a way out. He sat upon the futon, his ears drooping. The conqueror only caught every fifth word of her speech; Adora seemed to talk at a speed incomprehensible to him. Every so often, she stopped to take a breath.

Ice cream, the murderer decided, was likely an acquired taste. He had asked for some due to, as he would describe it, “scientific curiosity.” He had specifically requested a swirl of chocolate and vanilla, two flavors which he decided mixed rather well. Unfortunately, despite that mixture, he did not like it. It was too cold, and the strange way it melted in his mouth was a bit too reminiscent of ration bars for his taste. He would, however, continue to eat it; it was considered a great offense in the armada to reject a gift from a ruler, and he supposed some values were shared even by Bright Moon.

Perhaps he would simply go back to soup.

“Okay,” Adora said, walking back and forth. “We can still get out of this. They don’t like you, but you can still manage this. The witness selection is more exclusive today. Alright, so they’ll probably hit us with that line about child soldiers again. We can just point out Frosta, right? We inducted Frosta into our own ranks happily!”

“Incorrect,” Hordak said, stuffing a spoonful into his mouth, and recoiling slightly at the cold. “Frosta was a ruler who willingly chose to fight alongside you. I did not give my own troops an option. I raised them with propaganda and forced them into service.”

“You really think Mermista will say that?”

“She knows already, as is evident.”

“Alright, alright, you’re right. So what do we say?”

“We concede that I did indeed train children to fight.”

“But they’ll hate you for that!”

“Any more than they hate me now?”

“Okay. Yeah, got me there. So what do we say beyond that?”

“Well,” Hordak said between spoonfuls of the treat. “I suppose we could in fact argue that as a result of Prime’s conditioning, I did only what was told.”

“Prime raised you like that since, since childhood? All of you?”

“Oh, I would call myself merciful in comparison. At least I permitted my own forces to have childhoods of their own. Prime grew us to our age instantly. We were born, told only to fight and to embrace Prime’s light. He programmed into our minds the knowledge we required.”

“You didn’t…”

“No. We did not get to be children.”

“No slumber parties? No late nights talking to one another? You weren’t kids?”

“We slept wired to pods, so as to transmit our mental data to Prime. We knew all we needed to know, and we did his work. There was no need for a childhood. We were tools, the hands of Prime. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You… I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. I have never experienced being a child. I cannot miss it.”

Adora looked to him, and reached out a hand. Hordak glared at her, and she decided not to touch him. The savior of Etheria wandered once more.

“Okay, so we’ve got that, I guess. What if she brings up the portal?”

“Ah. The portal. It nearly tore Etheria asunder, is that not correct?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it… it was bad.”

“I did not intend for that result. I meant only to summon Horde Prime.”

“Because that’s much better,” she said sarcastically.  
“It cost Queen Angella her life. I… I took her from Etheria, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“No? Yet, I was the one to open the portal.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, you were. Issue is that you would’ve closed it if you’d known the danger. _Catra_ is the one who got Angella killed.”

“And you’ve forgiven her for that?”

Adora looked across the room, blankly. “I’ve got a lot to work through with Catra. I try to remember that she changed.”

“And I haven’t.”

“I didn’t say that,” Adora said.

“I did not believe you thought it. It is simple, Adora. I have not changed.”

“I’d say otherwise. You asked me to stay yesterday. The Hordak I know would never have done that.”

“The Hordak you know… that is the problem, Adora.”

“What is?”

“I am _proud_ of myself, Adora. It is among the reasons I turned on Prime, alongside my love for Entrapta. I am proud of my name, I am proud of my deeds. I accomplished so much on Etheria, yet with every accomplishment there were a dozen slain by my very hand. There is nothing I have done that did not come at the cost of blood.”

“Except killing Horde Prime.”

“I’ll grant you that.”

“And saving me, unless you killed people doing that.”

“No,” he said gently.

“Hordak,” she said. “You’re assuming that you haven’t done anything good.”

“I am _evil_ ,” he hissed, tossing his dessert to the floor. “A shadowed devil who Etheria fears!”

“You dropped your ice cream.”

“ _Let it melt_.”

“Uh-huh,” Adora said. “Really convincing me of the whole ‘grim and gritty’ thing there.”

“Adora, name to me something I have done that did not benefit me. Something… beyond your rescue.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. “May I sit down?”

Hordak gestured to the futon, and Adora took a seat. The villain crossed his legs, and looked upon her with suspicion. It seemed she was likely to launch into some anecdote so as to turn it into a heartfelt speech.

Instead, she sighed. “Look, it’s pretty evident that you’re not gonna side with me on moral concerns. I’m not entirely sure you have those, if I’m being honest. Prime really messed you up.”

Hordak clenched his fists and watched as the door opened. A young person with the claws of a scorpion wandered in, dressed in a white coat and carrying a silver cable with three prongs on the front. Hordak resisted his urge to recoil.

“We will keep this secret?” he asked, motioning to the cable.

“Yeah,” Adora said. “The doctor signed an agreement. I just think we need a read of your vitals.”

“Carry on like I’m not here,” the doctor said in a meek voice.

Hordak was already quite good at that sort of thing.

“Moral concerns,” Hordak repeated as the doctor approached.

“Right, right. Listen, I don’t think you’re not gonna be convinced to kick it into gear not to be sentenced due to moral concerns. Fine. So what about practical concerns?”

“Practical concerns?”

“Hordak, you’re a fearsome warrior. You’re really dangerous. But what do people forget?”

“That I once threw an entire pillar at Catra?”

“Quit underselling yourself. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re one of Etheria’s most intelligent minds. You built a palace out of a broken ship, took control of the seas in a masterstroke, invented an army of machines.”

“And? We know quite well how destructive I am.”

“Exactly. But you know what you could do with that sort of intelligence, Hordak? Nobody knows the Horde’s tech better than you.”

“Entrapta.”

“Alright, I’ll concede that. Imagine it. It’d take you two weeks to accomplish what would take anyone else months. You could fix Etheria.”

“Fix Etheria? I think you mistake my skills. I build weapons of war, Adora. Even under Prime, I devised tactics to eliminate and enslave dissidents.”

“Hordak, I don’t buy that for a second. Think of all the things you’ve invented!”

“Destructive machines.”

“Which Entrapta reverse-engineered into the machines repairing homes right now.”

“Armor designed to increase my strength for combat.”

“Which could give the average Etherian worker ten times that strength, advancing the rebuilding process along quite a bit.”

“The chips.”

Adora looked blankly at him for a moment.

“Okay,” she admitted. “Those are objectively bad.”

“Now do you understand, Princess?”

“No. No, I don’t. I’ve never understood this. You could offer so much, but you can’t acknowledge it. You could do so much, Hordak.”

“No. No, you mistake my accomplishments in the battlefield for accomplishments in general.”

It was then that Hordak felt a pain in the back of his neck, directly in the port. He winced, and snarled at the doctor, who had plunged the silver cable into it. They backed away from him, and he looked up to them, a growling in his throat and a glare on his face.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I need to do that to get these biological readings.”

“ _Warn me next time_!” Hordak barked.

“Hordak!” Adora exclaimed.

Hordak shut his eyes. He breathed for a moment. He reminded himself that he was safe.

“I am sorry. Please warn me next time. That is a very… _sensitive_ place.”

“Alright,” the doctor said.

“Okay,” Adora said. “Just a little pinprick.”

Hordak shut his eyes once more, and felt the cable plunge into the port once more. It was far, far more than a little pinprick. It was vile, an invading feeling which sent waves down his body and caused him tremors to his very core. The doctor hummed calmly, as though they knew not what they did. Hordak felt his fingers dig into the shredded cushions.

At last, it was over. Were it not a necessary procedure to judge his vitals, Hordak would never have agreed to let anyone do this. Anyone, of course, except for Entrapta.

The tremors did not fade entirely. He felt his hands clutch at the nothingness of the stuffing. Adora looked at him, the worry painted on her face clearly. Hordak snarled slightly, and tried his best to content himself.

“Keep going,” he said. “Let it fade. Pretend it is not there.”

“O-okay,” Adora said. “Anyways, I just don’t get why you seem so bent on not helping anyone.”

“How could I help anyone? Anywhere I went, they would be scared of me, and they would have every right to be. Who would permit me to work for them?”

“We’re merciful. You’ll find a job.”

Hordak felt the tremors ripple through him once more. He tried to keep his physical response to a minimum. This was no time for adverse effects.

“You believe in poetic justice.”

“Some of us believe in poetic justice. I believe in restorative justice. I don’t think it’s fair that Bright Moon wants you exiled.”

“Fair?” Hordak asked, as though the word were alien to him. He curled his fingers inward, and squinted, his vision once more blurring.

“Alright,” the doctor said. “There’s no easy way to put this to you.”

Hordak turned to them, and rose to his feet. He wandered to the mirror, Adora reflected right behind him all the way. He pressed a hand to the glass surface.

“Give me the results.”

“Your body is undergoing cellular decay. If you’re properly treated in time, probably with cybernetics, you’ll be fine. You’ll live a healthy ninety years or so.”

Hordak looked to the mirror, and resisted a temptation to strike his reflection within it. He looked upon himself, his eyes slowly growing from brown to a dull red. As though the trial were not enough, he now faced death.

“Doctor,” he muttered. “How long will I live?”

“If you get treated, you’ll live the same life an average Etherian will.”

Hordak once more resisted the temptation to smash the mirror before him. His progenitor, for all his egotism, had failed even in repairing Hordak. He turned away from his monstrous reflection.

“I should have known,” he growled.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Do not be,” he responded. “I had presumed I would experience some form of cellular decay. Prime was a scientific genius, but he could only see in himself success. He would not permit himself to acknowledge that he had failed in his cellular reparation techniques.”

“You’re upset,” Adora said.

“Of course I am. That said, there is no time to wallow in my self-pity.”

“Self-pity? Hordak, come on. You need help. We need to cancel the trial, we need to call things off. You’re not in any condition to continue.”

“No,” Hordak responded. “I remain firm on this. The trial will go on.”

The monster looked at himself in the mirror once more. He knew that this visage would soon fade from him; the strength would disappear, the facade of being powerful would eventually leave him entirely. He took a shaky breath as his vision blurred once more. This was not a matter of emotion, the failure reminded himself.

Failure. A wretched word. Why now did it come to him, and not before?

“Hordak, you need treatment.”

“I will not back down. This trial is a necessity.”

“You can’t keep putting yourself through hell for this.”

“Hell, Adora? You think this is Hell? No, this is paltry. Hell is falling upon a distant planet, with no way to escape to your home. Hell is watching your body decay, knowing that all technology will fail you eventually, and you remain no closer to being found. Hell is lying awake in the foul nights on a backwater planet, wondering where the stars have gone, wondering whether your Brother will ever come back, whether he ever cared or whether you’re just a failure. _That_ is Hell. _This_ is merely unfortunate.”

“Did you need that?” Adora asked as the doctor left the room. “You seem like you needed that.”

Hordak breathed a sharp sigh into his hand. The former warlord looked at the deep blue texture, and questioned ever so briefly why fate had chosen him to be the one. He wondered why he had been cast to Etheria in lieu of his many brethren on the front lines.

“I did not intend to go on that long,” Hordak admitted.

“It’s alright,” Hordak said. “I’ve heard worse.”

“Did Catra enjoy waxing philosophically?”

“No, no, but she was really into the whole ‘furious rant’ thing.”

Indeed, that matched Hordak’s recollection of Catra. She was exceptionally talented with utter certainty, yet she could not take her time. She was a young woman with a talent when it came to strategy and among the best fighters in the Horde. No, Hordak decided; she had beaten him with ease, and thus she was perhaps the best. It had been only Catra herself, her impatience and penchant for cruelty, that had kept her from complete success.

Fascinating how much of that thinking could be applied to Hordak himself.

Hordak had never been a man of poeticism and philosophy. Even he was completely unsure as to why he had launched into such a verbose speech on the subject of Hell; Hell was something even Prime spoke of in hushed tones amongst the armada. He had said it was a place exclusively of shadows and of eternal punishment.

During his first week on Etheria, Hordak had thought he had in fact landed in Hell. Fortunately, he had quickly learned better. Still, he wondered if that was how intense his hypocritical dedication was. If it had been Hell itself, he would have wasted no time in trying to conquer it for Prime, lest he be a failure.

“Hordak!” Adora exclaimed, snapping him out of his pondering.

“What?” he asked, looking at his visage in the mirror. Perhaps he would need to re-apply his makeup, so as to hide the dark circles under his eyes once again.

“Hordak, you’re in trouble. There’s nobody in Etheria who could make you cybernetic treatment in time for it to have the necessary benefits.”

“No,” Hordak said. “There is one.”

“You mean Entrapta, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean Entrapta. If I am to be blunt--”

“You’ve never asked permission before, don’t see why you’d do it now.”

“If I am to be blunt, I would not trust anyone else. Besides, if all things fail, I am quite sure my old armor still exists.”

“What did Prime do with it?”

“You know, it is almost humorous. For all he despised me, I believe he kept my armor in his ship; in a trophy room of sorts. He had many of them, but I believe it is specifically trophy room H567.”

“You think he kept it?”

“He showed it to me. To mock me. It was painted over in his colors, yet he could not destroy it. No, if he destroyed it, it would not exist. No, he kept it as a trophy because it was a reminder that he had bested me. I find it ironic it is perhaps that which will save me now.”

“Should I get it?”

“Yes. How much time before the trial begins again?”

“We have about two hours. You want me to get the armor before then?”

“No. I will do fine in the trial, even with my ailments.”

“Who’re you trying to convince?”

Hordak tilted his head. An odd question indeed. Two hours, however, were nothing. They would pass by like a breeze on a gentle wind.

He was inclined to admit he found this turn of events to be somewhat bizarre. Now, he spoke in what he believed to be metaphor. There was a certain poetic quality to his ruminations.

He decided to be done with such things. They were of no use. The jury would not be convinced by flowery words and lengthy monologues.

Adora left his room, this time without the necessity of command. Outside his window, he saw shadows darting past. They leapt deftly, reduced to a flicker of movement. Hordak, however, knew it was not beyond notice. The quandary was not whether it had slipped his gaze, but whether it was real at all.

Outside the window, he saw it blow past in the gentle breeze. A scrap of white cloth flew outside, gliding elegantly across Bright Moon. Upon it was a stripe of black. Hordak reached to his mouth, and most nervously, he felt a chill run down his spine. He tensed, and stood tall, examining it.

Via simple analysis, he recognized that it was indeed in the proper pattern. This was, doubtless, the uniform of a Galactic Horde soldier. The symbol was similar to that of Horde Prime, the megalomaniacal leader himself. Hordak backed away from the window quickly.

A creaking sound nearly caused Hordak to leap from his place. Fortunately, it was only the sound of the door opening. Passing outside the door were three figures in white cloaks, yet it was the silhouette at the door which caught the attention of the former warlord.

In the door was the silhouette of himself.

This, he knew, was the one they called _Wrong_ Hordak. As though there was something _right_ about his brother. He knew the origin of the name, yet to some extent it did bring him discomfort. The former warlord placed his hands behind his back, and breathed a heavy breath.

“So,” Hordak said. “You are the one I have heard so much about.”

It was like a reminder of who he had been only days before. Wrong Hordak was the ideal specimen, beautiful, almost perfect in every way. His eyes remained the resplendent green of before, yet his face was infused with emotion. Hordak could not help but snarl ever so slightly, but he knew not at what.

“Hello, brother!” exclaimed the clone jovially, a smile on his face.

“Brother,” Hordak said, turning away.

He examined himself in the mirror. Most certainly, he would need to re-apply his makeup. It had set properly, but the dark shadows beneath his eyes were growing more visible.

From the pocket on his dress’s chest, Hordak removed the crystal. Upon it, he read the word _LUVD_. Did Entrapta know what she had given him?

He cast the thought aside, and pocketed the crystal, as Wrong Hordak approached. “Why have you come into my domain?”

“Brother,” Wrong Hordak said. “I heard they were holding a trial for you, and I thought we ought to meet. You are, after all, my inspiration!”

“Your… inspiration?”

Hordak sneered.

“Of course! You were the first among us to rebel against the false light of Horde Prime!”

Wrong Hordak wore a new garment; if he were to analyze it, it appeared to be a green dress. It reminded Hordak of the foul pit of green liquid which Prime purified his brethren in. Hordak held his tongue when it came to such a thing.

“What exactly do you think I did?” Hordak asked.

“Why, of course, you arrived on Etheria and you began your rebellion! You opposed the Alliance initially, but now you have turned over a new leaf!”

Hordak was not sure what offended him more. Truly, it was absurd that they portrayed him as a conqueror as though there were no more to him than the face of the monster. However, the alternative was equally egregious to him. They had _purified_ his deeds as though he had not committed them.

“Is that what they’ve told every clone?”

“Why, of course, brother! I happen to be head of the rehabilitation program, finding our brethren homes and lives! Helping them find names!”

“What of your own?” Hordak asked, turning back to him.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“The name you carry. _Wrong Hordak_.”

“Ah, yes. I was asked if I should change it, but I chose to keep it in honor of Entrapta, and… in honor of you. In honor of he who stood against Prime. I must tell you, brother, I am proud to bear the name of Hordak!”

Hordak approached. There was a trembling to his hands, surely a remnant of the procedure. His blood boiled, and he looked Wrong Hordak in the superior clone’s pure, perfect green eyes.

“The name you bear is stained in blood.”

“What ever do you mean?”

“They did not tell you, did they? They thought it too vile for your humble clone ears. I am just as much a false hero as Prime!”

“What did they not tell me, brother? Please, what ails you?”

“Oh, many things ail me. Chief among them, however, is the knowledge that when they relayed to you my tale, they left out the part where I murdered people.”

“What?” Wrong Hordak asked, blinking quickly.

“Oh, yes! Most of the damage done to Etheria was by my own hand. I cannot count the number of lives taken by my hand.”

“They… but you are a hero!”

“Hero?” Hordak asked. “Hardly. I will not be painted as a hero to anyone.”

“Yet my fellow brothers, they take your name as well, in variations such as mine. You are a legend among us.”

“A legend shrouded in darkness. Tell me, did you know that I built torture machines not unlike those of Prime? That I trained children to fear and hate their own friends? That I took my empire by force and would have annihilated the very world if I thought it would please Prime?”

“I… n-no, brother.”

“Hordak is a _curse_ , brother. Cast it aside lest it destroy you.”

Wrong Hordak looked to the floor. He wiped tears from his eyes, and then stood tall. Hordak found himself matched, eye to assuredly perfect eye with his better.

“No,” Wrong Hordak said.

“ _No_?” asked Hordak.

“There are parts to your legacy which are horrifying, brother, but there are parts in all of history which are horrifying! The texts of our history should feature you in the light not only of an evil man, but also of the man who turned on Prime and saved Etheria.”

“You tread a dangerous line, Wrong Hordak.”

“Then let me,” he said, wiping another tear from his eye. “You are my brother, Hordak, and my hero. You deserve that your story be told in its entirety, no matter the light it portrays you in.”

“You think I can be absolved of my crimes? You believe they can forget them?”

“Not for a moment. If there is anything I know, brother, it is that we should not forget a crime committed by anyone. We will not forget those committed by Catra, of course. No, there is no room in Etheria to forget, but there will always be room to forgive… for those who want forgiveness.”

Hordak looked at Wrong Hordak. He cleared his throat into his right hand, and squinted. The healthy clone reached out a hand to his, and Hordak turned away from it.

“No,” Hordak said. “No.”

“Yes, brother. We will chronicle your heroism and villainy alike! Imagine the tales they shall tell the children of Hordak, he who once harmed Etheria but chose to save it in its direst hour.”

“ _Entrapta_ ,” Hordak responded coldly.

“What was that, brother?”

“I chose to save Entrapta. For all I could care, a thousand worlds could burn.”

“That is a lie.”

“Oh, and I suppose you can read my mind?”

“It is a sad thing, brother, to see you in this sorry state. You deny yourself the things you deserve, the warmth and kindness! You freed our entire people.”

“You freed yourselves. You freed yourselves when you chose to abandon the side of Horde Prime.”

“Yet forevermore we would have been under his sway without your bold action. You are not just proof that a clone can resist, Hordak, you are proof that a clone can find love.”

“Love?”

“Come now. Even _I_ saw the way Entrapta looked at you.”

Entrapta.

There was something so warm in the way Wrong Hordak said that name. It was a warmth Hordak himself could never achieve in his own voice, something he could never say to her. He shuddered at the thought of trying to say her name again, of reaching out, his fingers weaving deftly into her own.

He would sacrifice the decades which remained to him for but a day with Princess Entrapta.

“Wrong Hordak?” the conqueror asked.

“Yes?” asked his kindhearted brother.

“Tell my story. No matter what happens, ensure every bit of my tale makes it into the history books; whether it be that of Hordak the murderer, exiled into space and to his death or that of Hordak, the eternal prisoner.”

“I will, brother!”

“And Wrong Hordak?”

“Yes, brother?”

Hordak turned to him and gently placed a hand upon his shoulder. He looked away, staring toward the door. He could not bear to look.

“You have it all wrong. It is not you who should be proud to bear my name, but I yours.”

“Thank you, brother. Thank you!”

“Now get out.”

“Oh, um, yes, brother!”

As he exited, Hordak saw them again. This time, there were far more than four. Outside the window, he saw them again, this time two of them. He clenched his fists. They lingered for .

They were gone in the blink of an eye. Hordak did not question if these specters were false anymore. There were few things he could trust, least amongst them himself, yet Adora saw them too. These were all too real.

A few more of the figures wandered by. Hordak prepared himself for an assault, raising his fists; it was an assault that never came. Whatever these creatures were, they stalked him, yet they would not come for him directly.

Hordak would call such tactics cowardly, yet he suspected they were in fact intelligent in nature. They studied him, his movements, his state of being. Soon, they would find that he was ill again; then would be the time they chose to strike if he were correct in his analysis.

The conqueror settled back down upon the futon. He thought of the clone’s words, how he had revered Hordak; perhaps it was not reverence that he wanted after all. He sighed into his hands, and it was then the door opened once more.

A machine walked into the room, a mop in its hands. Hordak opened his hand outward, and the machine looked around the room, confused. Hordak muttered things incomprehensible to even himself under his breath, and then demanded the broom.

The machine handed him the broom awkwardly, and left the room on its single wheel. Entrapta’s handiwork, he was quite sure. Her technological brilliance knew no bounds, and it would serve to aid in the healing of Etheria just as much as magic would.  
Magic. Ah, the thing he had been so hesitant to consort with; Hordak would have sought to harness it for himself were he not afraid of Prime’s response. He supposed that somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known even then that Prime despised ambition. He had only underestimated how much.

Hordak pressed the wet mop to the floor and began to wipe up the melted ice cream. He had requested Adora bring it to him in the event that he needed relaxation. It was unfortunate that he did not like the results of such a venture.

This. He would never do this again, not if he were removed from Etheria. No, not mopping; he was quite sure if he ever found employment in the galaxy, he would find himself mopping floors until his hands hurt. No, if Hordak were to be exiled, he would never again be able to try ice cream. He would never read a poem, never look upon a painting. Even if he did, it would not be the same as doing so in Etheria.

The Etherians had a beautiful culture. Hordak wished he had not tried to destroy it. The culture of Prime, a name illustrated across the cosmos in screams, was unworthy of replacing that of Etheria.

That was an interesting turn of phrase. The _culture_ of _Prime_. It was fascinating to the murderer. There had been no culture formed amongst the clones, no art created. His grasp had been so tight that, had there been a poet amongst them seeking to chronicle their journey, they would have been purified.

All was Prime.

Hordak heard the sound of footsteps racing across the roof of his room as he finished mopping the melted sweets. They were heavy footfalls, most likely coming from a figure of physical fitness. Their boots carried with them the same sound that he had heard so often in the armada. Hordak had a few ideas as to who this mysterious cabal of stalkers could be, yet he would need more information to make an assertion such as that.

It reminded him of the conquest of Sobatea. The Sobateans had greater weaponry, greater numbers than even the Horde. It had only been through racing across their rooftops, rushing through the lands with indefatigable purpose, that a covert team, led by H11-7158 himself, had captured the king of the people. H11-7158 had requested the king and his people be spared, and Prime, impressed with the clone’s work, had honored his request.

It was only now that Hordak realized he had never seen the king again, and Sobatea had supposedly imploded a month later.

He could not help but feel as though he was at fault for that. Perhaps Prime would have spared it if not for the request of his general, the one he secretly despised. Many would likely say it was simple chance that the planet had imploded; Hordak, however, knew better than to assume anything fell to chance when it came to the sheer sadism of Prime.

The footsteps faded, yet it did not ease Hordak. He moved to his mirror, and checked Entrapta’s schedule. It would be tomorrow that she had her next day off. Unfortunate.

The conqueror once more looked upon his hands. He knew better than to try and sleep now, for he had only two hours; besides, if he slept, his mysterious assailants would in all likelihood find their methods to strike. Thus, he waited, sitting on the futon.

Sometimes, the cruelest thing you could do to a man was leave him with his own thoughts.

Two hours later, Hordak was made up properly. He was venturing through the hallway, accompanied by Adora. Dozens of figures in cloaks surrounded him, and amongst them were the masked figures. Adora kept them in the corner of her eye, always watching the figures.

Hordak could not help but shield himself from the sun. He held his arms over his face, not desiring that its rays burn him. There was something so strange about this hatred, something utterly detestable in the sun.

They arrived in the courtroom. With great immediacy, Hordak surveyed the jury. Sure enough, once more he saw the figure in the red cloak amongst the jurors, small protrusions poking at the top of their hood. Their face was concealed this time by a crimson scarf, and the defendant sat down.

Indeed, the witness selection was much more strict this time. As Adora prepared several pages of holographic notes, Mermista was examining the witnesses. This time, Wrong Hordak had been selected; rather wisely, at that, as they would need evidence of Prime’s atrocities. Behind him, directly behind the clone, was Frosta, and behind her Sea Hawk. Last among them was Perfuma, who had furrowed her brow intensely.

Hordak played with his hands as Adora finished dealing with her notes. She set the data-pad they were projected from upon the table. Mermista, meanwhile, calmly opened her mystery novel. After skimming it, she shut it and slammed it to the table. It seemed the Princess of Salineas had a flair for the dramatic today.

Today, Mermista wore different makeup. She wore swirls of cyan around her eyes, and dark blue lipstick, almost the same shade as Hordak’s hair had once been. Hordak would need to dye it once again, and he would need to remind himself to send some gift to Double Trouble. Something indicated that being indebted to the shapeshifter would be an error.

Mermista ran through the line of witnesses. It was not only brief, it was almost absurdly brief. It was then that Kyle and Rogelio rushed into the back of the line. Hordak supposed they would serve as witnesses. Examining the reptilian man, he noted that Imp remained on his back. Ah, how he did miss the small creature.

Hordak bent his fingers, ensuring that they would be prepared. He gave a glance to Adora, and she looked back. She raised an eyebrow. Hordak did not understand.

“Hordak?” she asked.

Hordak nodded, squinting slightly.

“You gonna be okay?”

Hordak cracked his neck. The twinge of pain was brief, yet necessary. It shocked him into full consciousness from a stupor brought about in the two hours he had spent alone. In that time, he had been incapable of ridding himself of cruel thoughts, of whispers and shadows. Hordak had been unable to remove from his mind the foul perversions of Prime, and the fear that ran through every fiber of his being.

Strangely, he had hardly even thought of his returning disease. He supposed it was almost an inevitability; after all, such things happened to Hordak for a reason. Prime’s technology was far from perfect, and Hordak was the one it had been tested on. There was no way Prime would treat himself for genetic imperfections. After all, Prime saw none within himself.

Prime was the manner of man who found vice and sin in every corner of the galaxy. He could not create, so he took and he destroyed. Hordak had always been the same. All he had ever built had been weapons of war; all he had ever wanted was to return to Prime. He was as though a simple weapon, a gruesome instrument of violence.

Imp. Imp had come from an attempt to clone himself, to pass himself on. Hybridized with the last DNA samples of an extinct species, Hordak had crafted the small thing. Prime would have destroyed it without a second thought, yet Hordak could not bring himself to do anything of the sort. Yet, even then, Hordak had ambition; the very same ambition as his progenitor.

Glimmer sat upon the throne, wearing a more regal purple and pink dress. Bow, meanwhile, was wearing a tuxedo, albeit one torn at the abdomen. He was still working with his own datapad, but something was off. The Queen and her boyfriend shared brief glances, and in one of them, Hordak caught some warmth; the same sort of warmth Entrapta had first shown him.

The two had a “date” tonight. Most species, strangely enough, called such activities “dates.” Once, Hordak recalled asking what they meant by such a thing. He had been told that he was never to ask again what a “date” was, lest he be corrupted by the impurities of the creatures that did so. Hordak, after this deduction, looked away. What the two did was not his business.

“Very tight witness group,” Adora said. “I could call in a few favors. With Frosta, and Kyle, and, well, actually, everyone in there owes me a lot.”

“And delegitimize the proceedings?” Hordak asked. “No. We allow them to present their evidence.”

“Have you even _met_ Perfuma and Frosta?”

“I have met them only on the battlefield. They attempted to stop me while I was razing the countryside on my path to Bright Moon.”

“Why were you even doing that?”

“Morale,” Hordak said. “The more your people saw destroyed by us, the less trust they had in you. It was, in fact, why I spared the Princesses when I took them on. It was a symbol to the people of Etheria, a symbol that their heroes could not defend them.”

“Yikes,” Adora said, eyes darting to the floor. “I’m _so_ glad you’re on our side now.”

Hordak would not make such an assessment quite yet. After all, the people of the Etherian Alliance, as it had been named, likely did not want him there. Whose “side” Hordak was on would be determined by the outcome of this trial.

Demoralization had always been an element of Hordak’s strategy. The goal had been to bring the Alliance to surrender, not to annihilate it. It would be impractical to desire anything but surrender; Hordak had neither the means nor any desire to entirely wipe out the Alliance. He had been within inches of success as well, if not for Catra’s incompetence and spiteful nature.

He recalled his battle with Perfuma not well; if he remembered correctly, she had sent several thousands vines at him to restrain him. How dangerous a power such as that could be, the control of nature. Had Perfuma so desired, she could have ended his life via strangulation or impalement. Instead, she had chosen to restrain him, to attempt to capture the murderer.

Then came Frosta. The battle with _her_ was far more memorable. The child had nearly frozen his entire force solid when he had taken her on. Of course, she had fallen. After all, she was merely a child. Unlike with Perfuma, there was not even the temptation to end her life. She was only misguided. She had believed she could be a hero despite being a mere child.

Still, it was an admirable effort.

It was an intriguing selection of witnesses. Most of them, Hordak had never met except to do battle. What could they say of his deeds and motives? It was quite the thing.

“Hordak, there’s a problem. It sounds like Perfuma did some, uh, some detective work. It sounds like she asked people about you while she fixed her Kingdom.”

“Alright,” Hordak said. “What could she provide that nobody else could? There is nothing the Princess can do that will hurt me.”

“She interviewed the Sea Elves.”

“I destroyed their home.”

“She interviewed Double Trouble.”

Hordak inhaled sharply.

“So, we are _doomed_.”

“It’ll be fine. We can handle it.”

“Double Trouble’s recounting of the events with be exceptionally salacious, solely for the purpose of creating chaos.”

“Yeah, we’ve met. They seem fun.”

“I would not call them fun. They are deceitful.”

“Well, yeah. Double Trouble’s very into gossip.”

“It was thanks to the influence of Double Trouble that I nearly took the life of your beloved, Catra.”

“Oh.”

“Were you not aware of that?”

“Was… was Catra aware of that?”

“No, I do not believe she was.”

“That’s very new. What did they tell you?”

“Only the truth.”

“Yeah,” Adora muttered. “They’re really good at that.”

“If they spoke only the truth, we should have no problem; that said, I find it difficult to believe they will pass up an opportunity to make things more difficult for us. It would be much more dramatic that way.”

“This throws a huge wrench in my plan. I was gonna argue that since we have Wrong Hordak here as our representative who knew you, we can get you out on an argument against culpability, but Double Trouble…”

“How strange it is,” Hordak said.

“What?” Adora asked, looking at him awkwardly.

“The effect someone can have without even being here.”

The words needed not be spoken; Hordak did not refer only to Double Trouble.

“Alright, we’ve gotta remind the jury that Double Trouble is a war criminal. Oh. Oh, c’mon.”

“What?” Hordak asked.

Adora leaned in close. “I may have… _pardoned_ Double Trouble a little. Like, they may officially have been considered to have assisted the Alliance during the war.”

Ah. That was quite the epiphany to have in a moment such as this. Hordak clasped his hands, and moved his chair nearer to the desk. He placed his hands under his chin, resting his head upon his palms as he watched Mermista assume her position.

“A fair decision,” Hordak said. “Double Trouble did, after all, turn on the Horde.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “And then doubled back and almost got my girlfriend killed for sick kicks.”

“Yet, even that could be argued as viable sabotage of the Horde.”

It was strange; it had been the shapeshifter that had damaged the Horde more than the Alliance ever could. To blame Double Trouble, however, took the responsibility from the Horde’s faulty command structure. Had Hordak not been so inclined to delegate tasks to his underlings, he would not have failed. If the imperfect clone could go back and do it again…

He reminded himself that such conquest was not ideal. To go back and do it again would render him once more a monster, and it was best that he not do so. Such ideas were to become alien to him, any pride in his genius removed from his form. Had that genius been used for heroism, he could take great pleasure in the knowledge he was among the most intelligent people in Etheria.

The jury once more spoke amongst themselves. They were just as much a storm as that which had once rained outside, their words furious in nature and quick in speed. There was not a single one who remained silent as they spoke of Hordak’s crimes, and of his supposed guilt. There was no disputing what Hordak had done, that much was certain.

At last, Glimmer snapped her fingers. The entire court silenced itself before the Queen. Kyle nearly ran from the room.

“Welcome to the second day of the trial. Now, as you can see, there was a more personal witness selection. We specifically chose Princesses and Horde soldiers, because, as once stated, this trial is not about Hordak’s deeds. This trial is about Hordak’s agency, about whether he had the choice to be good at all.”

Mermista looked skittish as Perfuma showed her a datapad. Hordak’s eyes darted between the two, a certain ferocity in his expression. He spotted the two of them exchanging an odd, apprehensive look. He winced as he tried to read their expressions, yet could not.

It was a gift to read expressions, a gift Hordak did not have. He knew not what people thought, and the knowledge discomforted him. He did not like any inability to trust in reality.

It was almost cruel. Hordak had a strange dissonance between the real and the fictional. Prime had raised every clone to speak in his voice, and it was odd to him. Sometimes, Hordak wondered whether or not he had even known reality, until he had crashed upon Etheria.

An intriguing question, yet divorced from the matter at hand. Hordak would need to work on his digressions. As he sat up straight, feeling a slight pain in his back as he did so, the murderer clasped his hands over his mouth. He needed to remind himself to keep silent, entirely silent. Any stray word could be weaponized against him.

“We have someone very, very special here today, as well as our usual witnesses. You will see the clone named Wrong Hordak, who is a leading figure in the clone rehabilitation program. He has taken valuable time from that project to come help us in this courtroom and testify. I’m very thankful for his presence.”

Wrong Hordak looked around, and bowed. It seemed he, in fact, had a flair for the dramatic as well. The jury clapped and cheered. Hordak merely looked to them, and scowled.

After their cheers were done, and Wrong Hordak blushed profusely, his ears drooping in a manner the jury clearly were endeared to, it began. Glimmer motioned to Mermista, who called Frosta to the stand. Hordak did not know the value of calling the child, for she had no insight in his psyche.

“Alright, listen up,” Frosta said. “We all came here to discuss Hordak. I want to tell you what happened when I fought him.”

Ah. How interesting, Frosta would retell their fight. Hordak questioned the truth of her depiction.

“It was really an epic clash!” Frosta exclaimed.

It seemed she was not interested in telling the truth.

“It was two days long. Millions of lasers and ice spikes. I beat him seven times, and he just kept coming.”

Hordak supposed that was an exaggeration. She had indeed had multiple chances to simply end his life, yet she had chosen not to. For Hordak, there was at least a plan in place to let the Princesses live. He saw not the purpose of letting him live.

Then, he supposed that a child would be unlikely to try and kill him. He did still find it questionable, however, that Perfuma had not even attempted to put him down. He would have done so in a heartbeat if not for the fact that mercy was a weapon unto itself.

“After it was done, he had _barely_ won! I’m telling you, it was one of the most epic clashes in the history of Etheria.”

Adora looked to Hordak skeptically. He simply shrugged. He would admit that Frosta was quite the formidable warrior, one not entirely unlike himself. They had both been in charge of their respective factions, forced to hide their true selves from the leaders. Only, Frosta had been able to leave that behind when she had gained friends. Hordak had given such a thing little thought until he had met Entrapta.

“Anyways,” Frosta said, grimacing, her tone more serious. “He spared me. I don’t know why, I don’t know at all. He tossed me aside and walked past me like I wasn’t even a problem, like we hadn’t even fought.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I… I couldn’t get back up. He hadn’t even hit me, he just grabbed me and threw me. I barely had an ice shield.”

Hordak took a shaky, high-pitched breath. Now, he recalled that part of it. Without an ice shield, she would have been reduced to a stain on the wall. He looked at his hands, and saw red stains. He had been inches from killing a child, not due to malice but sheer thoughtlessness. She had been his opposition, a legitimate target; Frosta had been an obstacle to returning to the light of Horde Prime.

How many others had been children, he wondered. How many children on how many planets had been felled by his unknowing hand. He was sure that not a single one of the worlds Prime forced him to destroy had lacked children.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could feel the warmth of blood against his hands. It was not even that he had nearly done so, for he had not slain Frosta. It was that he knew that if she were to attack him here, now, he most likely would respond in the same manner.

It was an instinct to him. When he saw an opponent, he desired their death. There was a haze, a thoughtless vision of red. Hordak opened his eyes.

“He just burned down the town, ran the people out,” Frosta said, her eyes clearly red. “He didn’t even care. I’m not normally scared, but I… I was scared.”

Mermista looked to Hordak. He could not typically read expressions, yet he almost thought she had the slightest vestige of sympathy for him. Hordak looked at Frosta, knowing the child was alive and well.

“So,” Mermista said. “You mean to say Hordak just tossed you carelessly? He employs child soldiers and tries to kill children?”

“No,” Frosta responded. “I don’t think he even knew what he was doing. I think the idea was just to get me out of the way.”

Hordak nearly slammed his fist upon the desk. He had been careless. No, not _careless_ ; Adora would frame it as _lacking in empathy_. The truth was that he had simply not cared whether the child lived or died, and it was their own skill that had saved their life.

“Alright,” Adora said. “May I have my turn with the witness?”

“Absolutely,” Mermista responded. Hordak knew she already had prepared something, some trick that would demonize him further.

As though he needed _more_ demonization.

“Alright,” Adora said. “You think he spared your life?”

“Yes,” Frosta said. “I think he spared my life. I don’t think he wanted me dead, I don’t think he wanted anyone dead.”

“You hear that?” Adora asked the jury. “Hordak was a conqueror, but he never came in _trying_ to kill people.”

Mermista smirked.

“Objection,” Mermista said. “What about Catra?”

Adora’s head quickly snapped to her. “Catra was a member of the Horde at the time. She was not officially allied with the Alliance.”

“He still tried to kill her.”

Hordak noticed that amongst the murmuring jury, the figure in the red cloak was trying to make themselves nearly invisible.

“Yeah,” Adora said. “There’s context to that.”

Frosta looked between Adora and Mermista. “I mean, I punched Catra the one time.”

They both glared at her.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe not the best time to bring that up.”

Hordak had heard rumors that the child was fond of punching. Specifically, that she had threatened to punch Horde Prime. He was disappointed he had not seen such a thing. It would have been cathartic.

“Overruled,” Glimmer said. “Adora’s right, Catra wasn’t part of the Alliance at the time. Besides, as I’m sure she herself would be happy to tell you, Hordak had his reasons to be so enraged. Catra nearly got Entrapta killed.”

Indeed, Catra had sent Entrapta to Beast Island. Hordak could only hope that she had presumed it not as dangerous as it was; thankfully, the psychological threats of the island were of little consequence to Entrapta. She had ten times the mental fortitude of most beings in Etheria.

“That will be all,” Adora said.

Frosta nodded. Mermista seemed to catch something the jury did, and shook her head in exasperation. Adora watched, waiting with shaking hands as Perfuma took the stand. It was a strange sight, the hero of Etheria scared out of her wits by one of her own.

She took a deep breath, and then the fear was gone. Perfuma cleared her throat, and cracked her knuckles. Adora stared intently at her.

“So,” Perfuma said. “I’ve been doing a lot of research and work. I was specifically selected because I have quite a few interviews done, and an informant from the Horde.”

“Objection!” Adora exclaimed. “Said informant is Double Trouble, who the Queen has met and knows is a sensationalist.”

“Overruled,” Glimmer responded. “Double Trouble is many things, and they have a penchant for exaggeration. That said, I find them a reliable source. Much like Hordak, we can waive prioritization of complete, perfect truth so as to have _any_ insight into the leadership.”

“You can’t just let her repeat what Double Trouble said!” Adora exclaimed, gesturing wildly.

“Unless _Catra_ is going to get up here and talk, Double Trouble is the closest thing we have to an eye in the Horde leadership.”

“Besides the leader of the Horde himself!”

Hordak shuddered. He would not desire to speak to the jury, lest he be yelled over and condemned. He shook his head quickly.

“Hordak is the defendant. I won’t have him testifying on his own behalf. Besides, something tells me he doesn’t want to.”

Certainly not.

“Fine,” Adora said. “But I want the jury to know who exactly the source of this information is. Double Trouble’s information will vary in accuracy.”

“Alright,” Glimmer said. “Please take that into account.”

The jury talked to one another, and Perfuma cleared her throat again. Hordak looked upon her face, yet she looked at him angrily. Hordak recalled that she had not even looked so angry when she had been trying to defeat him.

Mercy. He still did not understand why the Princesses did not use consistently lethal force. The war would have ended long ago if someone like Catra, someone who was completely unscrupulous in method, had acquired power such as that of She-Ra.

That said, he had counted on their unwillingness to kill. He did not understand it, but he did recognize it. Through all the warfare, the Alliance hardly slew his troops. There was perhaps a casualty here and there, a lost life thanks to their deeds, but certainly no more than a few. Their mercy had perhaps been their greatest weakness, yet somehow, he knew it had been their greatest strength as well.

It was thanks to the Alliance’s mercy that Hordak’s life had not been taken. Now, it was thanks to their mercy that he sat in a courtroom ready to face punishment for a life almost entirely without mercy. Had it not been useful, he would not have been merciful.

Killing, he had grown accustomed to. Years on the field of battle had dulled him to its edge. Now, he saw the world through a lens without war.

Perhaps that was why he felt as though he might vomit.

“Perfuma,” Mermista said. “What was _your_ meeting with Hordak like?”

“Objection!” Adora exclaimed. “I don’t see how it’s useful to hear about another Princess’s meeting with Hordak. We’re here to ascertain his agency, not to hear how he fought the Princesses. We all _know_ he fought the Princesses when he took to the field; I mean, you were there, Mermista.”

Hordak and Mermista had fought in the least literal way possible. She had created a storm to try and slow his fleet, so he pressed further on. She had then tried to board his ship, so he shot a hole in hers. Sure enough, she had not even glimpsed his face by the time she was escaping to save her crew.

Ah, how the heroism of the Princesses delighted him sometimes.

“Okay,” Mermista said, scoffing. “Fine. Perfuma, please tell them about what you learned.”

“My informant in the Horde--”

“Double Trouble, might I remind the jury,” Adora interrupted, receiving a _shush_ from Glimmer.

“My informant in the Horde told me that the defendant, Hordak, was not a very kind boss. They primarily worked under Catra, who told them that Hordak was dramatic. However, they did specifically note that something was going on with Entrapta.”

_Entrapta! Entrapta!_

This was no voice in Hordak’s head which had said Entrapta’s name. In fact, it was his own voice. He looked to the back, and saw Imp speaking.

“Yeah,” Perfuma said, gesturing to Imp. “They said he had that little creature spying on people in the Horde, informing him of their activities, but he didn’t know what happened to Entrapta. He hadn’t kidnapped her, that was certain. Double Trouble’s suggestion was that Hordak, uh…”

The jury went quiet. They were interested, it seemed, in this part of the story. Hordak merely found it embarrassing; after all, his relationship with Entrapta was not the business of the public. He would not have her shamed through relations with one such as he.

“Double Trouble thinks Hordak was in love with Entrapta.”

Hordak fumed. He rose from his seat, and Glimmer looked at him. A small swirl of energy was produced in her hand, and he sat back down, his body shivering.

“Now, Double Trouble also said Hordak had a tendency to exile his enemies to Beast Island. As he did to King Micah.”

“Objection!” Adora exclaimed. “That’s just not right. The defendant did not exile the King.”

“Sustained,” Glimmer said. “All information indicates Hordak was not responsible for my dad’s fate.”

“Oh. Okay,” Perfuma said, stuttering. “So, other than that, yeah, Hordak was known to exile enemies and failed subordinates to Beast Island.”

“Treacherous subordinates,” Hordak muttered.

“What?” Adora asked quietly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Carry on.”

“He was a ruthless commander, but Double Trouble said he had a soft spot for a lot of things. Imp, for one, and Entrapta.”

So far, it had not been so exaggerated. It seemed the shapeshifting informant had not been nearly as sensationalist as Hordak would believe. Then, he reminded himself that the worst was likely yet to come.

“Then Double Trouble told me that Hordak had a conflict with Catra, a conflict created due to treachery. They were co-leaders of the Horde.”

Ah, so it was not lies that would be the issue with Double Trouble, it was truth. The jury gasped almost collectively. Adora’s face went red, and Hordak narrowed his focus.

“Not initially, at least, but Catra took a high position and helped conduct the defeat of Salineas. She aided him in razing the countryside. Hordak and Catra came into conflict because of the portal experiment. It was supposed to summon Prime, but what happened was… well, we don’t know.”

Adora gave Hordak a knowing look of sorrow.

“All we know about it, beyond what Adora told us, is that Queen Angella had to die to stop the universe from destabilizing. This means Hordak and his portal are responsible for the death of Angella.”

Hordak had not known the universe would destabilize. He had not _known_ Angella would need die to stop it. Had he known, he would have stopped the project immediately. How could he present Etheria to Prime with Etheria destroyed?

Adora huffed a few breaths, and Glimmer looked down at her lap. Bow was similarly looking around. It seemed they knew something the jury did not.

There was silence. Then, Glimmer pointed to Adora. “Tell them,” she said.

“No,” Adora responded.

“If you don’t, I will.”

“Fine!” Adora exclaimed, slamming her fist upon the desk. There was a glow, and it nearly broke.

This was fascinating.

“ _Catra_ was the one who kept Hordak from stopping the portal’s opening. She-- she changed, okay? Catra saved Etheria, and she doesn’t need a trial, she needs help.”

Mermista smirked. Hordak wondered how she had known. Had she planned this in advance, or had she decided to go along with the flow? It hardly mattered.

This, however, was new to Hordak. The exile, he had learned of, but Catra had slain the ruler of Bright Moon. He turned to the jury, who began to furiously yell; all the jurors, of course, but the one in the red cloak.

“See?” Mermista asked, wading across the room toward the jury. “The defense _lied_ to you to save her girlfriend. Now, don’t get me wrong, Adora’s a good person, but you see what her kindness gets us. Because she let Catra go every time, Angella is dead. I have to ask, what do you want?”

“Stop it,” Adora said.

“Or what?” Mermista asked. “The savior of Etheria will turn on me? C’mon, Adora. We’re friends.”

“You’re going to ruin my girlfriend’s life.”

“Yeah, but, like…” Mermista paused. “She kinda did that herself.”

Adora growled in a manner almost identical to the way Hordak did. Glimmer created a swirling explosion of sparkles, and the room fell entirely silent. All that remained was Adora, face to face with Mermista, the two staring at one another. Mermista did not even falter as she stared at the savior of Etheria, perhaps the most powerful being on the planet.

“The people deserve the truth,” Mermista said. “I’m sorry it had to come out like this. I really am, but you couldn’t keep lying to them.”

The jury began to shout again. Glimmer once more quieted them, this time charring the floor with magic. She looked at the jurors, and the one in red sat.

“Catra did change,” Mermista said. “I won’t pretend she didn’t. Catra is a good person now, and she doesn’t need prison. That said, she _did_ play a role in Angella’s death, and the defense tried to deny it. Think about what else Adora could be lying about to spare Hordak. Catra was mostly a victim of him, but him, he was the one in charge the whole time.”

“In charge of _what_?” Adora asked. “In charge of a small subset of an empire that spans galaxies? In charge of an opposing force? Yeah, that’s all true, but it doesn’t matter! Hordak _is_ a victim, whether you like it or not. He spent his whole life being raised under Horde Prime’s indoctrination.”

“So that gives him the right to put other people through it? No, thanks.”

“He can’t just break out of years of indoctrination!”

“Why not?” Mermista asked. “You did it just fine!”

“ _Just fine_?” Adora asked, her fists clenched as though she may strike the opposition. “It took me years to acclimate to the Alliance!”

“Oh, sure, you had to have a little slumber party, and you got along fine. So that makes it okay for Hordak to commit murder?”

“That’s a disingenuous comparison,” Adora responded. “My treatment wasn’t nearly as harsh as Hordak’s! Hordak never hurt us, he never electrocuted us, never reached into our brains and made us wonder if we were even people!”

“Again, it sounds like he’s got a crappy past, but, like, that excuses murder to you? Between him and Catra, I think you’ve just got a soft spot for the bad guys, Adora.”

“Please, Mermista!” Adora said, releasing her fists. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Mermista said, placing a gentle hand on Adora’s shoulder. “I’m just doing what I have to. You and I both know what has to happen.”

“What makes it so different?” Adora asked. “Him and Catra? What makes it all so different?”

“I don’t know,” Mermista admitted. “But I do know he can’t just walk free. And he’d agree with me.”

Hordak looked away in shame. Adora was not meant to know that. Now, she turned to him.

“Order!” Glimmer exclaimed.

The shout was ten times as powerful as any magic.

Mermista and Adora were back in their positions in an instant. Perfuma was looking at Hordak, confused. Mermista snapped her fingers.

“We done here?” she asked Perfuma.

“Yeah,” Perfuma responded. “Adora, anything?” she asked meekly.

Adora looked to Perfuma. “ _Get out_ ,” she commanded.

Perfuma complied with ease. Hordak looked to Adora, who was shaking. Whether it was due to rage or fear, it did not matter. He felt… _sorry_ for the young woman, as though she would want his pity.

“Hordak has suffered terribly,” Mermista said. “That doesn’t give him the right to throw that suffering on everyone else. Think of how many people will never see their spouses again. How many children grew up never knowing their parents. Is this a man we want to see go free, the sort of person we want walking our streets?”

Hordak wished he could tell them he had changed. He wished he could say he was ready to be a model citizen, to say _Yes, ma’am_ and _No, sir_ when so commanded. He wished so desperately he could tell Mermista that it was all over, that he would never again harm another living being, or even try to.

Yet they both knew that would be a lie. Hordak was an instrument of destruction. It was his purpose, what he had been bred for.

“Prosecution,” Glimmer said. “Call your next witness before I have you and the defense thrown out of court.”

“Whatever,” Mermista said, beckoning Kyle.

Rogelio gently patted the other soldier on the shoulder, and then approached beside him. Hordak was tempted to reach out toward Imp, only to see if the creature would reach back. He wanted Imp to reach back, to remember his father.

Instead, he resisted his desire to do so.

“Hi,” Kyle said quietly.

“This is the Horde soldier Kyle,” Mermista said. “He was the result of Hordak’s years of propaganda and conditioning.”

Kyle looked at Adora. He gave her a small wave. Adora almost immediately brightened up, and returned said wave.

“Yeah,” Mermista said. “He’s a pretty friendly guy. Now imagine that guy going out onto the battlefield, fearing Princesses, helping to raze homes and fight for the Horde. Imagine him sending innocent people on the run, all because he was told Princesses were evil monsters. This is what Hordak did. He broke a nice person.”

Hordak had no counterargument.

“Luckily, Kyle eventually managed to defect of his own free will thanks to the support of his fellow cadets.”

“Support,” Adora said. “Support is an important word here.”

“Oh,” Mermista said haughtily. “The defense wants to talk? You gonna tell us how Hordak just needed a little love and he’d be fine?”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “I am.”

Mermista looked appalled.

“Permission to speak freely, Your Honor?” she asked Glimmer.

“Like I could stop you,” Glimmer responded warmly.

“Kyle had support. I had support. As Wrong Hordak will probably tell you, he had support. Hordak never did. He was a brainwashed clone, who crashed on an alien planet. There are people who do bad things even with support. I won’t lie to you; before Catra changed for the better, she had friends, she had people asking her to come back. Hordak, though, he had _nothing_ when he got here. He didn’t know what to do other than what he always had.”

“You’re saying?” Mermista asked through the jeers of the jury.

“You know what happened in under a year after he met Entrapta? He _changed_. He turned on Prime. He never had anything before her, because he drove everyone away. He scared everyone, even me, but if someone had reached out a hand to him, if somebody had said that they would forgive him, it would be different.”

“So what?” Mermista asked. “He didn’t have any friends so he--”

“Right!” Adora said. “Hordak didn’t have any friends. I think we’ve proven ten times over just how important something as simple as a friend can be. So many atrocities could have been stopped if Hordak had a friend. Now, obviously, there were reasons nobody got close to him. He was scary as hell, for one. Then, though, then someone did.”

“Enough speeches!” Mermista said. “It’s _my_ turn to talk.”

“So it is,” Adora said. “But I know you believe me.”

“I do,” Mermista confessed. “I do think things could have been different, but they weren’t, were they? We’re not discussing what could have happened, we’re discussing what did. Kyle, tell them.”

Kyle shuffled with his hands. Rogelio patted him on the back. He turned to Rogelio, and gave the reptilian man a peck on the cheek. “Hi, everyone,” he said. “I’m Kyle.”

“I like him,” a juror said.

“I was told all my life that Princesses were the bad ones, you know? And no matter how it felt, no matter how reality went, they were bad, until they just… weren’t anymore, you know? I just wanted to serve, I wanted my friends to be happy.”

“You see?” Mermista asked. “Hordak taught someone kind to kill.”

“I… I never killed anyone!” Kyle said. “Hordak encouraged a policy against killing. He said it was ‘unnecessary’ along with mostly telling us to get out.”

Hordak had hardly known Kyle well, yet he had on some level respected him. He was brave despite being weak, kind despite having every reason not to be. Hordak knew that in the same position, he would have lashed out against his supposed “friends.”

Except he had never lashed out against Prime, not until Entrapta.

A peculiar observation.

“Alright, but you destroyed homes,” Mermista said.

“Yeah,” Kyle admitted. “Well, a few times. Mostly, we were just transporting things. We worked on the logistic side of the Horde. We generally just scared people and occupied villages. Every so often, there was a statement. Then Catra took command, became co-leader, and we were worked to the bone. Hordak had never done that.”

Of course not. It was foolish to spread one’s forces thin, especially to abuse them as Catra had. The records and reports all stated that Catra overworked the soldiers, leaving them without rest or proper provisions. Even Hordak, one not known for extraordinary treatment of his subordinates, knew that it would be more trouble than it was worth to treat soldiers as Catra had.

“So, when it comes down to it, you’re saying your time in the Horde was miserable? That you had your individuality stripped away?”

“Not at all,” Kyle responded. “In fact, as far as I can tell, individuality was encouraged in the Horde. Hordak didn’t want us all to be the same, he just wanted us to conquer Etheria for him. If anything, we left because of Catra.”

“So, he deceived you?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “He definitely lied to us.”

Hordak had not _lied_ to them. He knew better than to think he had lied to them; after all, he had never assumed the Princesses would show him mercy. Yet, he had assumed mercy and taken advantage of it.

It seemed Hordak had not only lied to his soldiers, but to himself.

“I rest my case. Defense?”

“Yes,” Adora said. “Kyle? Tell us about your friends.”

“Well, uh, my boyfriend and girlfriend right now, actually. Lonnie and Rogelio.”

This was a new point of analysis. Hordak had heard of Etherian courtship before, through some _illicit_ research he had done, which Prime would surely disapprove of, but he had never heard of courting two at once. He wondered why such a thing had not been unveiled before. It was an interesting phenomenon, how someone could spread their love between more than one person at once.

“Yeah, tell us about them,” Adora said. “I haven’t talked to them in a while.”

“Well, Lonnie’s back on Mystacor, helping with repairs. They’re, uh, they’re nice. I wasn’t always sure they appreciated me, but they learned. They became better.”

Mermista scoffed. “Is this your new plan, Adora? A few bullies can change, so a murderer can too?”

“No,” Adora said. “No, I’m not gonna manipulate this into something. I just wanted to hear how my friends from the Horde were doing.”

“Riiiiiight,” Mermista responded.

“No, seriously. This isn’t a political thing, I was just interested.”

“C-can I go?” Kyle asked.

Adora nodded. “Of course you can go, Kyle.”

Kyle quickly left the stand, and stepped away from the desk. He wandered off, and Mermista looked at Adora. Adora extended a hand, and with a single motion, beckoned Wrong Hordak.

The jury went wild for Wrong Hordak, every one of them. They loved him, the way he looked, the way he seemed to reach out. He merely blushed as they pumped their fists and cheered him on. Hordak could not help but feel as though this was proof unto itself of Wrong Hordak’s superiority.

“Hello!” Wrong Hordak exclaimed, closing one eye, yet leaving the other open.

Hordak blinked a few times, with questions in his mind. Was there a purpose to this action? Did it send a covert signal? He would need to analyze it further.

The jury giggled like children. Hordak slumped back in his seat and crossed his arms. He kept his vision narrow, his focus intense. He needed to be of one mind at the moment.

_I am not a defect. I am worth something._

Hordak looked up to see Imp on Rogelio’s back, leaving. Imp reached out a hand to Hordak, the recording a signal between the two. The conqueror nodded to his clone.

How intriguing; when Prime had developed a failed clone, he had wanted it tormented and disposed of. Yet, when Hordak’s own efforts had failed, his desperation to reach immortality stunted, he had instead taken the result in. Imp was one of the few things that had brought him joy in Etheria. He closed his fist as Imp left the room, looking upon his knuckles. Thankfully, the blood he perceived had washed away.

“Hello!” Wrong Hordak repeated. “My brothers, my sisters, I am Wrong Hordak, as you likely know.”

Every movement was a grand gesture, everything he said a wild alteration of his face. There was not a hint of stoicism in Wrong Hordak, only joy and enthusiasm. He presented a hand toward the jury, and spoke grandiloquently.

“I have come to talk to you about my brother, Hordak. Now, I know that your opinions on Hordak, he who I took my name from, are negative. I would like to encourage you to see him through a more empathetic lens.”

Mermista cleared her throat. “Do I get to ask him questions?”

“No,” Glimmer said. “Wrong Hordak is taking valuable time to speak on this. He gets to say his piece.”

“But--”

“Mermista, it took me a long time to realize how important it was to listen to people, especially people who just want the best for everyone.”

“Fine,” Mermista said. “Let him monologue, let him preach, whatever.”

Wrong Hordak cleared his throat, and Kyle rushed back in with a bottle of water. Wrong Hordak ruffled Kyle’s hair, and Kyle made a sound along the lines of the vowel “ _E_ ” over a truly exceptional length of time before leaving.

“My friends,” Wrong Hordak said, presenting his hands to the jury. “I can tell you exactly what Hordak’s life was like amongst Horde Prime’s armada. Horde Prime taught us he was the universe’s sole, rightful ruler, and that any imperfection or failure was a violation of his will. In the armada, the will of Prime was law. Hordak, even when he landed, did not believe that he had any free will, any ability but to return to Prime.”

The jury was enraptured entirely by him. Of course they would be. Wrong Hordak was charismatic, charming; he leaned a tad toward the innocent side, yet that did not take from him his inherent sense of righteousness. He was exactly the sort of man one would want speaking on their behalf.

“I know the feeling quite well. I only came with the Best Friend Squad, as it was, because they deceived me. It took me not long to realize that Horde Prime was a false ruler, yet it was not an instant discovery either. As far as Hordak knew, all hated him. He did not know that what he truly wanted was love. Hordak did not want to be a failure, yet Horde Prime had conditioned him to feel an inherent guilt for the crime of having a _conscience_.”

It seemed he was far from lacking in eloquence. When Wrong Hordak so desired it, he could give a speech among the best Hordak had ever heard. The murderer felt, for a moment, as though he were innocent. The moment passed quickly.

“Hordak was not evil of his own volition; at least, not entirely. My friends, he is just like me. If I had not encountered my first friends, I would have been just like him. When the time came, even Hordak, one who was raised to be a failure, to feel guilty for being empathetic, found himself turning on Prime. All it took was love.”

The jury’s eyes were widened. All but the juror in the red cloak, who swiftly hid themself away, burst into a round of applause. Hordak could not help but feel a certain sense of joy.

“He did it,” Adora said softly.

Indeed. From Hordak’s analysis, it seemed Wrong Hordak had broken through to the hearts of the jury at last. They looked upon their former enemy in a new light.

“This court is adjourned,” Glimmer said, beaming.

Hordak could not help but smile as the doors opened. The jury were filtered out, and he was guided out by Adora. In spite of his disease, he had at least achieved one victory today. He would not be exiled.

His disease. It came back to him as though he could not escape it. Both the disease itself and the thoughts of it embedded themselves unbearably into Hordak, and he could not repel them.

Hordak was on his way back to his room when he recalled what he had made Wrong Hordak promise him. He wondered what tales they would tell of Hordak; whether the future generations would love or despise him. There were certainly reasons to do each.

“That was amazing!” Adora said. “I didn’t think we had them, but then Wrong Hordak came up, and it’s like they finally understood.”

“Yes,” Hordak said. “Wrong Hordak told them what my life was like far better than I could have.”

“You okay?”

“Fetch my armor when you must, Adora. I believe I will be fine, unless the tide turns in one of the next hearings.”

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen in the next one. Mermista probably has some counter.”

Mermista was incredibly intelligent, he would not deny her that. She was able to spin almost anything into a defeat; he wondered how she had felt after their talk, whether she had gotten what she had desired. The knowledge that Hordak was like her in that he had fears and hopes of his own, he had thought may cool her. Instead, it only stoked the flames of her ferocity. Most likely, she was conflicted, and had channeled that conflict into a burning passion to see Hordak brought to justice.

“She may.”

“You’re really cavalier about this.”

“I suppose the result is of little consequence. I am indisputably guilty of the crimes I am accused of. I do not see much reason for the trial.”

“Mercy,” Adora responded.

“Mercy?” Hordak asked. “Mercy is a pitiful thing. Mercy is granted only to those who fail, and victory to those who succeed.”

“You don’t really get mercy, do you?”

“Horde Prime had no sense of it. He trained me without any sense of it in terms of morality; although I quickly deduced the ease with which it could be weaponized.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “You’re kinda scary, actually.”

“I do not want to be,” Hordak said. “My days of needing to horrify Etheria are long past.”

The two opened the door to the guest room. Almost immediately, the sight within put them on edge. Adora’s hands glowed, her sword half-formed by the time Hordak shook his head. They stared, nearly gawking.

A cabal of figures in white cloaks were crouched in Hordak’s room. At least twelve were within. The window was not even broken, the guards outside the room missing. Every one of them wore the same white cloaks, the same blank white masks. Their cloaks flowed in a nonexistent wind. Adora was almost at the tip of her sword when she finally stopped.

“Wait outside,” Hordak said. “I may have to deal with this myself.”

Adora nodded. The defendant brushed off his dress, and entered the room. From the white cloaks, they drew curved white blades. The blades crackled with a green glow along each edge. Hordak balled his hands into fists, and prepared for battle. It seemed that the attempt at assassination had come at last.

It was then every one of the figures placed their blade upon the floor and prostrated themselves before Hordak.

“What is this?” Hordak asked. “Show yourselves!”

“We are sorry to have angered you,” one of the figures said through the mask.

Hordak approached cautiously, still prepared for a surprise attack. He did not desire to touch these figures, yet he knew somehow he would be forced to. He sighed, and shuddered as he felt his mind on the verge of collapse.

“Who are you?” Hordak asked.

“Nothing!” exclaimed one of the cloaked figures in a shrill voice. “We are nothing!”

Hordak knelt to the one who was nearest to him. “Remove your mask,” he commanded.

“No! No!” the figure bellowed. “No, we cannot! We mustn’t!”

“Easy,” Hordak said. “I won’t hurt you.”

The figure looked up to him, and then, shaking, nodded. He removed his mask slowly, his head kneeling down. Hordak had already known the answer, but it did not hurt any less. He backed away, hyperventilating, as the figure looked up.

The figure’s face was his own.

The only difference was in the eyes. The figure had bright green eyes with a darker lining at the bottom, indicating consistent crying. They were, however, in a healthy physical state. These, of course, were clones. Hordak thought for a moment that he had always known the figures to be his brethren, yet he had hoped so desperately that they were not.

“All of you!” Hordak bellowed. “Rid yourselves of your masks!”

The clones began to claw their masks from their faces, removing them. One even broke his in two, and nearly panicked, clinging to the pieces, desperately trying to put them back together. The clone nearest to Hordak reached for him, grabbing his wrist. Hordak tossed the clone aside on instinct, hurling him into the wall. Hordak gasped, placing his hands over his mouth, as the clone hit the pristine wall. Hordak rushed to the wall, thankfully realizing the clone was alright.

“Your eyes,” the clone said, reaching up toward Hordak’s face and stroking it gently. “They are decaying.”

“It is nothing,” Hordak responded.

The clone grabbed his hand, and at once, his fingertips were inches from the bright green eyes of the clone. The others chanted in the background, chanting that all beings must suffer to become pure. Hordak felt his arm, growing weaker due to his disease, forced closer and closer to the clone’s face.

“Take mine,” the clone said. “They would be better upon you, Lord Hordak.”

“Hail Lord Hordak!” chanted the clones.

It was undeniably tempting to let his hand go, to gouge out the clone’s eyes, yet he could not. He pulled his hand away, and shook his head. “No!” he exclaimed. “No, no, no, I will not have your eyes. They are not mine.”

“They are!” exclaimed the clone, grabbing Hordak’s calves. “All that is ours is yours.”

“Hail Lord Hordak!”

“No,” Hordak said. “No, no, this is a nightmare, this isn’t real. I am still asleep, surely.”

“Asleep?” asked the clone. “No, sir. You have finally ascended to the position you deserved.”

Hordak reeled back, moving to the center of the room. The clones circled around him, all identical, yet so different. They wore different expressions, some fearful and some enthusiastic. He was surrounded by them.

“Explain yourselves!” he commanded.

The clone who had moments ago offered Hordak his eyes rose to his feet. “Lord Hordak, we are sorry if we have offended or upset you. We merely thought this was what you desired.”

“What have you done to the guards?”

“They are fine,” the clone said. “We simply scared them off.”

“Good,” Hordak said. “Now, explain yourselves. If you have not come to end my life, what have you come to do?”

“Why, to worship you, of course. You are he who overthrew Prime, and thus he who shall take his throne! Only once in a generation is one among us blessed with the individuality to overthrow our leaders, the superiority requisite to such an act!”

“No,” Hordak said. “No, no.”

“We did not desire to remove our masks. We knew facial expression was a privilege we did not have, yet we could not resist response when Prime died. Thus, we covered our faces so that none may see our disgusting expressions of sorrow.”

Hordak stomped upon the clone’s mask. He gasped.

“Why would you do such a thing?” he asked. “We have come to honor you, to revere you, to love you as we did Prime, so that you may love us as Prime loved us.”

“Prime never loved you,” Hordak said. “He never loved any of you.”

“Not true!” exclaimed the shrill clone. “He, however, was inferior to you. You destroyed him. Take his throne, and become what you were always meant to be. Become our God.”

“That garb,” another said. “It fits you not. How are we meant to worship you if we can hardly even see your body?”

“No!” Hordak exclaimed, wrapping his arms around himself, breathing rapidly. “Don’t touch me, don’t worship me, don’t touch me, don’t _touch me_!”

“I am sorry!” the clone exclaimed, prostrating himself once more and sobbing. “You may take my life for such a slight, Lord Hordak. You do not have access to the methods Prime once did, so you may take from me my life.”

“No!” Hordak exclaimed. “I do not want your life, I do not want you!”

“Then I suppose I must do it myself!” the clone exclaimed, reaching for his blade.

Hordak, however, was faster. The clone reached for the blade, but the warlord had already taken it. With his bare hands, he broke the blade in two, and then tossed it out the window. The glass shattered in an elegant cascade, and the clone immediately reached for another blade. Before he knew it, Hordak had a boot upon his wrist.

“You will _not_ take your own life,” Hordak said. “I did not free you simply for you to end your own lives.”

“But what are we to do with freedom?” begged the sobbing clone. “We do not know freedom. _Freedom_ is a lie crafted by the Etherians to rid us from the light of control. We will be like the animals in days!”

The clones began to rise up. “Hail Lord Hordak!” they declared, coalescing upon Hordak like a tidal wave. Hordak watched as they approached, a swarm of drones who desired only his worship. They reached out for him with cold hands, begged him to touch them and to bless them. To love them as Prime had loved them.

“ _Get away from me_!” Hordak roared.

It seemed they did indeed follow that command. The sobbing clone rose to his feet. “Please,” he said. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“Go to the rehabilitation program!” Hordak commanded. “Find somewhere else. Don’t come near me ever again. Stay away from me. I am not Prime.”

“You are better than Prime. You slew him, and thus--”

“As though one of you could not slay me now? If you cut me, brethren, do I not bleed?”

“We would bandage your wounds and lick up the divine blood.”

“ _Damn_ you!” Hordak bellowed. “You stalk me for days and then act as though I am your _God_? I am _nothing_ like Prime, nothing!”

“Yet you are the one most touched by him. You are his remnant, his legacy, the one thing left behind.”

“Prime desired to snuff me out.”

“And in doing so he created you! His superior successor. You could rule Etheria in days. Simply join us.”

“Hail Lord Hordak!” chanted the other clones.

“Join us and we will love you. You will be revered. You will have everything.”

The clone grew nearer and nearer. “No,” Hordak said.

The clone placed a cold hand upon Hordak’s chest. Shivers ran down the former general’s spine, and he gasped for air. The clone ran a finger down the back of Hordak’s neck, reaching his collar.

“Please,” Hordak said, shivering.

“You condemn us, yet you command us not to kill ourselves. Do you wish us to live in torment? Why would you spare us if you despise us so?”

“I don’t know why!” Hordak responded. “I don’t want to see you dead. You were all like me once, I am not above you. Please go to the rehabilitation program. Please stay away from me. Please, please, please.”

“I can feel Prime’s touch in your mind,” the clone whispered in his ear. “It cannot be taken from you. You will forever be like him.”

There was a time for begging. There was a time to plead that others leave. As Hordak looked into the clone’s bright green eyes, he knew this was no longer a time to plead. The clone used Hordak’s hand to wipe away his tears.

“I am truly your leader?” Hordak asked.

“Yes,” the clone said.

Hordak struck him with the back of his hand, sending him careening to the floor.

“Then as your leader, I command that you leave me! I _command_ that you go to the rehabilitation program and that you find lives for yourselves.”

“Lord Hordak?” the formerly sobbing clone asked, a droplet of green blood dripping from his cheek.

“As your leader, I command you to _get out_.”

The clones stared at him in horror and awe. Their eyes were wide. They shed their cloaks, leaving only their Horde uniforms. Hordak looked at them, turning back and forth as they slowly began to leave the room through the door. Outside, he got faint glimpses of Adora, staring in shock. The final clone, however, did not leave. He wiped the droplet of blood from his cheek.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Hordak asked. “ _Get out_.”

The clone exchanged a final glance with Hordak. There was something of a parting sorrow, and then he was gone. Adora entered the room, and Hordak collapsed against the futon.

“What was that?” she asked.

“They were… clones. Clones of Prime, just like me. Yet, they were still dedicated to him. They said that I was he touched most by Prime, and thus his successor.”

“Hordak, you’re nothing like Prime.”

He knew better than to assume such a statement was true. They had both conquered new lands, both tried to clone themselves to reach immortality. The both of them had hurt their underlings, had been ruthless in fearmongering and warmongering alike. The only difference was that in every way Hordak had failed, Prime had succeeded.

“Please leave,” Hordak asked Adora. “I… I need time.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Adora asked. “You seem to be in rough shape, I think--”

“ _Leave_.”

“Okay,” Adora said. “But the jury might turn on you in a second if you go crazy, so please, for your own sake, keep your head. This is a bad thing, okay, but that’s all it is, right? These are people with nowhere left to go.”

Hordak nodded. Adora shut the door behind herself. He looked at the door, as it shut on him and his future alike.

How he wished Entrapta were here.

Hordak approached the broken window. He looked at his own hands, this time truly stained with blood. They had thought he was exactly like Prime.

What was the difference, honestly? Hordak was unsure. He could hear Prime’s words, his smooth voice beckoning him to come into the light and to take the throne. He had read the file; Prime had decreed Hordak his greatest failure and his greatest success simultaneously.

Even now, he could feel Prime within his mind. He was just like him, only a failure. Prime would not have taken so long to get the clones to leave his chambers. He would not have given into his conscience and failed in his conquest of Etheria. Hordak looked out the window as the storm clouds approached.

Hordak was indeed Prime’s legacy. Fortunately, there was a solution. Even if they would not exile him, Hordak knew of a way he could keep Prime’s horrid deeds from ever resurfacing.

He did not want to use it.

Yet he knew he had to.

“Hordak, I’ve got some good news for you,” Adora said. “Entrapta is--”

Hordak tuned her out. _Good news_ would only delay what he was to do. Without hesitation, he leapt out the window.

Prime’s ship remained where it had once been. Hordak began a journey there under the cover of storm clouds. He gave one last look back toward the palace, and wondered what Adora would have said, had he let her finish. He landed on his feet, a twinge of pain in his knees as he rose to his feet.

He decided to pay it no mind. There were greater priorities now. He knew there was one last way to rid Etheria of Prime’s irreparable corruption.

To cast out the shadows was to cast out the light as well. It was to become nothing, and in that moment one was nothing, that nothingness could be molded into whatever one desired. He could be whatever the people of Etheria desired, whatever _she_ desired.

“Cast out the shadows,” he said. “Cast out the light, cast out all things.”

It would soon be over. Etheria would suffer no more due to Prime or Hordak. There would be no legacy. It all ended tonight. He reminded himself that this was what they needed. This was what she needed.

He would miss Entrapta. He would miss Adora. He thought that perhaps he would even miss Catra; though she had been his rival for control in the Horde, it had been stimulating to have a rival. He would miss the life he had created. There was a faltering in every step, a desire to cease and a plea to go back. To beg forgiveness.

Hordak was tired of begging. He was tired of talk of redemption and mercy as though they were in the cards for him. Catra had found it, Scorpia had found it, but he was different. Prime would smile upon his deeds if not for his own fear, for Hordak had emulated him.

Hordak took the crystal from the pocket of his dress. He stared at his own reflection within. It stared back, clearly not desiring to go through with this.

It was the only way.

He could still hear her shouting. It was indistinct words, but Adora clearly was concerned with him coming back. Of course she would be. She was too softhearted to comprehend that some beings simply had no place in the world.

Fortunately, there was a way to begin anew. Tucked away deep in Prime’s ship, it laid there, waiting for him. Perhaps he had known from the start this was his only course. It would be awful, being trapped once again in a prison of his own mind, yet it was the sacrifice he had to make. They would miss him at first, but eventually they would grow accustomed to a world without an evil Hordak.

Hordak placed the crystal back in his dress. He moved on through the overgrowth of Bright Moon, through lush greenery and bright flowers, the land he had sought to destroy. He quietly thanked Adora under his breath.

By the time the clouds lifted and the sun rose, Hordak would be no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, call one of the following numbers:
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Hotline -- 1-800-273-8255  
> Crisis Text Line -- Text Hello to 741741  
> Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline -- 1-800-422-4453  
> YouthLine -- Text teen2teen to 839863, or call 1-877-968-8491  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline -- 1-800-799-7233  
> National Deaf Domestic Violence Hotline -- 1-855-812-1001  
> RAINN -- 1-800-656-4673  
> The Trevor Project -- 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678678  
> Trans Lifeline -- 1-877-565-8860


	5. To Reign In Hell

At this point in time, Hordak had ascertained that he did, in fact, live.

There was hesitation in every last one of his footfalls. The question of whether he had the strength to do what was needed for Etheria. This, he did for the realm he had failed, and the people he had harmed. His landing had been brutal, yet he had landed without perishing.

The nervous system’s responses were specifically coordinated to tell someone when to _stop_ doing what they were doing. Pain was like a warning, a warning to the body that what someone was doing was hurting it.

Today, Hordak denied pain its victories over him.

He tore a thorned branch from a nearby piece of greenery. It smelled of roses and berries. Hordak found himself uninterested in such scents; they were without practicality.

The former warlord hurled aside the branch. For a moment, he wondered if it would have been nice to have taken in Etheria as it was repaired; to see it in all its beautiful glory would have been an experience worth living for.

Still, he knew better than to assume Etheria somehow owed him kindness. He had been a man of destruction, destroyed its environment and slew its citizens. He looked at his hands, a spattering of green blood still staining them. The stain of his brother’s blood.

They had not been evil. They knew not what they did, how they hurt him; these were a people that had never known freedom, not unlike Hordak himself. Why, then, did they deserve sympathy and he did not?

He cast aside that thought. If he were to ask such questions, they would inevitably lead him back to the castle. Adora would take him back with open arms; perhaps the people would even welcome him in time.

When would it be that his true nature resurfaced? That this falsehood of a repentant man slipped away? Hordak snarled as he slashed through a hedge, breaking it into splinters and leaves.

There, before him, was Prime’s ship. It remained resplendent, even broken. Throughout it ran greenery and overgrowth, leaves covering the walls and flowers dotting the floor. Vines fell from the ceiling, and he wondered whether it was guarded.

Indeed, he saw two machines, with bright violet eyes. Surely, Entrapta’s creations. Hordak prepared to do battle.

It was then he recalled that he could do no such thing to Entrapta’s masterpieces. He opened his fists, and walked toward them. They extended their arms, pointing weapons toward him. He looked between the two as their guns loaded with nets. It seemed the Alliance’s obsession with mercy even extended to dangerous criminals such as Hordak.

“ _Authorization code_?” the robot asked in an interrogative monotone.

“Authorization code…”

The robots grew nearer. Hordak looked between the two. He had an inference as to Entrapta’s code, but if he were wrong, he would be returned to Bright Moon, and they would not let him out of their sight. He would not only live a whole life, he would live a whole life of constant surveillance, never again to hold his beloved alone; that was a life he would not wish unto even Prime.

“Authorization code Hordak.”

The robots grew nearer. Hordak looked between them, arching his back and preparing for a fight. After a moment, however, their eyes glowed green. They put their arms to their side.

“ _Welcome to Prime’s ship, Princess_.”

It seemed access was restricted to the Princesses. Something brushed through the overgrowths behind Hordak, and he whirled around. There was nothing; it had been nothing but a gust of violent wind.

“Thank you,” he said as he turned around and moved into the pristine hallways, now decorated by the flora of Etheria.

Hordak moved past the machines, and into ship’s core. If he recalled correctly, this level was not that which he sought; the labyrinthine creation of Prime’s flagship was in truth too perfect. He would need a map.

He could hear footsteps behind him. There was no doubt. He was being pursued, yet his pursuer had not yet revealed themself.

He approached the wall, recognizing the lettering. There was a terminal laid out, with a map. Directly to the left, a lift. He would need to acquire a personal computer from the vault, which would be easy enough to get to. Then, once he had that, he would need to reactivate the system to get certain systems functioning again. A typical clone could not do so.

How fortunate, then, that it was Hordak who endeavored to do this.

He reminded himself that in a form, he would return; there would be a fresh start. All it would take was to cast out the shadows and the light alike. They would come to rejoice at the loss of the villainous Lord Hordak, leader of the evil Horde.

Evil. Never had he known evil until Etheria. Before, it had always been that what Prime opposed was evil; then, he had arrived upon a world with its own concept of evil. A more objective system, less slanted toward a false God and more toward the will of the people.

In this world, the will of the people defined morality. Thus, the evil Horde was the force ravaging the world. They had crafted their own world and society, their own culture.

Perhaps someday, the clones would be able to do the same, free of Prime’s corruption.

They would never be able to do so if Prime’s legacy remained amongst them. He would drive thousands of clones to join his side, even if unwillingly. They would offer him power, and no matter how he refused, there would always be people who sought a place.

It had been the same in the Etherian Horde. He had taken in the people with nowhere to go, and used them like weapons. He had cast them out upon failure.

That was why Bright Moon had succeeded and he had not; they supported each other. Hordak had been without mercy, although not without pragmatism. He kept his troops fed and rested, unlike Prime would have done. Of course, that was only as he could not simply clone more.

Hordak could name the worst thing about it if asked. The worst part of seeing those clones was not how hard it was. It was the ease of it, the temptation of the offer to lead their cult, to return to his old ways and seek Prime’s approval once more even as Prime’s entire existence was dispelled. He could be revered; the clones would love him, even as he crushed them under his feet.

Love bound in chains, however, was no love at all.

He was in the lift before he knew it, and he activated it. In quick succession, he had his personal computer mounted to his left wrist, and he was proceeding through the halls. He heard the rushing of water as his lift met the floor which served as his objective. How curious. He was not aware Prime’s ship had flooded.

He downloaded the map, and wandered through. This was the prison block. Dozens of cells, their shields flickering on and off, ran throughout. Hordak could even remember the cell that they had kept Glimmer in. The Queen of an entire kingdom, kept within a simple cell like a commoner, invited occasionally to dinner.

Hordak loathed thinking about what Prime would have done to the young Queen. Prime had sometimes made rulers watch as he destroyed their worlds and slew their friends, he had made the rulers themselves activate machines to destroy their own civilizations. He would tear them apart in mental state, and with them completely broken, he would kill them.

That was when he was feeling merciful.

Hordak shuddered at the thought. It was fundamentally unpleasant, not to mention lacking in tactical value. Already, he disliked the idea of killing a ruler when they could be forced to surrender, but tormenting them so would compromise the rest of any operation. Prime was not merely cruel; he was ineffectual.

Checking the personal computer, Hordak looked through a screen which displayed the power systems of the ship. With a brief examination, he determined that what he needed was disabled. He would need to reboot its systems. Thankfully, some of the ship’s mechanisms still worked.

He had thought it would be harder; he had believed he would panic upon return to Prime’s ship. Yet, even as he ventured through it, he felt almost cold. He was in complete control in this place which had so undone him. It was as though this were his natural state, sedated by the power of his dastardly progenitor.

He looked at his clenched fist, his knuckles still stained with blood. He could not help but stare, the remnants of his blow remaining. His brethren had sought to come to him, to make him the new form of Prime, and he had nearly accepted such a horrifying title. Why was it that even now, a part of him desired to accept the will of Prime and become as he was?

Hordak clenched his teeth and snarled. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. The dripping of water was strange to him, an occasional droplet falling from the ceiling.

It was now Hordak wondered if this was even real. Had he truly come to Prime’s ship, had he truly been free at all? It was not beyond the power of Horde Prime to trap him in a dream, to give him what he wanted and then let him drive himself back to his servitude.

How many times had it been that Hordak had been offered a way out, only to rob himself of any opportunity? It was in his nature; he was not meant to be joyful. He should have known better than to offer himself true joy, for he should have known he would tear it away from himself once again.

Perhaps it had never been Prime. Perhaps that was simply who he was. A monster who hurt himself as an excuse to lash out and hurt others.

He shook his head. This was not the time for pondering. No, this was a time for action, a single decisive action that would serve as rectification of every single thing wrong with Hordak. He knew it would be harsh, to sacrifice once more his individuality, but it was what needed to be done. Hordak had been always a man of necessity above all; it was fortunate the ship still existed at all.

As he ventured through the maze of hallways, he recognized he would have to access the central computer in the throne room of Prime. Prime, of course, kept his true throne on the top floor of the ship; Hordak believed it was an attempt to overcome his insecurities about the idea that perhaps he was not, in fact, above all.

Somewhere in Etheria, a whale sat on a beach, mourning that it would never return to its home in the seas. That was the fault of Hordak and his cruel machinations. Somewhere, a child waited for their parents to come back home; they did not know that their parents never would. Again, at fault was the murderous conqueror.

How had he never seen it before? How had he justified it all as the collateral damage of war? How, yet, did he not cry for them? Hordak did not for even a moment mourn the cost of his warfare.

That was a harsh truth, one he once more shunted from thought as a lift opened into the wide throne room. Even this had spots of greenery within, touched by the nature of Etheria. He walked toward the throne, and looked at it. He ran an envious hand over its pure beauty.

He had never been ambitious before. He could hear a wave of water behind him. By the time he had turned around, there was nothing there. It was then he heard chirping above his head.

Hordak looked above him, and saw them. Birds. Small chicks, fluttering around the top of Prime’s throne room. One saw him, and he covered his face, lest they be frightened of him.

Instead, he heard the chirping grow nearer, and then one flew upon his right hand’s index finger. He looked at it, and his eyes widened. He could feel tears dripping out as a clap of thunder sounded off above. He wiped the tears away with his left hand, and smiled faintly.

The throne had hundreds of eyes reflected in glass behind it. Hordak cupped the bird in his hands, and stared down at it. It did not know it had flown into the hands of a murderer, of a conqueror. It had rainbow feathers, with beady emerald eyes. He blinked a few times, yet it remained. It looked up at him without any fear.

“Hello,” he said tenderly.

It tilted its head, and he did the same. Prime surely would have purged these creatures, yet not for a moment would Hordak desire to.

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

The bird looked upward, and from overhead, through the storm, a larger bird plummeted. It dived through a hole in the ceiling, and landed. It was about the size of Hordak. He backed away.

He had heard legends throughout Etheria that if one were to touch a bird, its mother would never love it again. In that case, he felt bad for the chick; to be abandoned by one’s caretaker was never a kind thing. He began to cry again, looking at it. Had he ruined this chick’s life through his accursed desire to feel loved?

The wide eyes of the beautiful mother bird looked upon Hordak. Its eyes seemed to flash between colors, and in a few moments, it approached. Hordak lowered his cupped hands to the floor, and the chick wandered out.

There was a moment. A moment when he thought he had hurt even this poor bird. Then, however, the mother took it in her wings, and approached Hordak, tilting her head.

Hordak pressed his left hand, that which was not bloodied, to the mother bird. Gently, he petted its head. It trilled a song of beauty and warmth as he did so, and eventually, it flew away, taking its children with it.

If Hordak had his way, those birds never would have found their home. Prime would have destroyed all of Etheria, and every bird, every person, every piece of art, would have been annihilated.

He turned to the throne. This only affirmed the necessity. He slammed his hand upon the throne, but its interface did not activate. He had feared this outcome, and it seemed said outcome would indeed meet him.

He sighed, tears still in his eyes, and sat down in the throne. At once, every screen flared to life, displaying Etheria in all its glory. It was a gorgeous planet.

He opened another part of the interface. Switching screens at a rapid pace, he worked with ten times the efficiency of Prime himself; Hordak navigated through the dozens of files and folders, and at last reached the system he desired. He looked at the display of it, a hologram that showed the purification pool. His mouth twitched and his hands quivered.

He pressed a button. The pool glowed with life suddenly, crackling briefly with electricity. It was merely an instant, yet it caused Hordak to wince. This was his objective; unfortunate as it was, the conqueror knew what needed to be done.

There was a temptation undeniable. Some part of him knew he could stay in the throne. He could rule his people, bring them into a new golden age. He could aid in rebuilding Etheria, have them love him as they had never loved another. He could sit upon the throne of his people, and once more be Lord Hordak, ruler of the Horde.

No.

He who sought only to rule was never fit to. He knew that any hunger for power, even a little, could completely corrupt him. He would give in to his baser instincts, the legacy of Prime. Hordak, even in his hours of thrashing delusion, would never become Prime. For some, becoming Prime would be too hard; for Hordak, it would be too easy.

That was the truth. Once you cared only for yourself, it was easy to crush all those you despised. It was a simple trap, one that Hordak had fallen into before.

Still, he could not resist a moment of lounging. He curled his hand into a fist, and rested his chin against it. He thought of an empire, stretching out across Etheria, across the galaxy. He could see it, Entrapta his partner, Adora his greatest general. He imagined the red and black banner spreading out across a repaired galaxy. He wondered what his people’s technology could do for those suffering in the galaxy, how many he could uplift.

Had Prime started with those same thoughts? Had he began thinking he would save the galaxy? Or had it always been a dream of crushing all which he could not become, out of a jealousy at that which he could not create? Either way, Hordak knew how it had ended.

The conqueror rose from the throne, and looked back at it. The throne, he would soon need no more. He moved the holographic display, and linked the system’s control to his personal computer. Yet again, for the second time in this venture, he was asked for an authorization code.

“Authorization code: Horde Prime.”

Sure enough, the throne allowed him complete control. Hordak looked at it, and its temptation. Then, with a single blow, he slashed the throne down the middle, destroying it. With a kick, he shattered the entire thing.

“So shall fall the last of Prime’s vile work.”

Hordak activated the lift remotely. Water covered its floor, but he pressed on anyways. Perhaps the ship had merely been flooded.

Ah, that was a hopeful thought; the idea that the ship had in fact simply been flooded. No, Hordak knew quite well what was going on. It was only a matter of when his pursuer crept from whatever place she hid and attacked. He examined the map as he waited. Floor eighty was his destination, floor eighty of one thousand. It truly was a massive structure, making up for artistic value in size.

Still, he supposed there were worse things than size. He examined the cloning bays, and found that they had thankfully been empty when the ship had been defeated. It filled him with some relief that his brethren had not perished in his victory.

Whether it had been a true victory was questionable. His foolish pondering ceased as he reached the correct floor. At last, the time had come.

Or, at the very least, it would have if not for the figure which appeared before him.

“ _Hello, little brother_.”

Hordak’s eyes widened. He did not know how to fight this sensation, a shaking, a loss of control. He looked up, and saw Horde Prime standing, tall and proud. He backed away, and in his attempt to get away, he inadvertently let the small, rectangular computer slip from his wrist, and clatter to the floor. He scrambled for it, and in the process, found himself on his knees.

“Ah. I see you have returned to a position which befits you.”

“You’re not real…” he muttered.

“No. No, I am not, but that does not matter. This proves all I have wanted. Alive? Dead? Real, false? They are of no consequence to me. I am Horde Prime, and we knew right from the moment I arrived what the conclusion would be.”

“Get out of my mind!”

“Ah, but little brother, you _want_ me. You want me to urge you onward. You cannot trust your own thoughts, because I am forever in your mind. It is your will that I am here; you have recognized what you are. Just a monster, nothing more. You _need_ me, Hordak.”

“I don’t!” Hordak exclaimed.

“All my brethren need me, and you are weakest. Most unloved and unworthy Hordak.”

“You are false,” Hordak said, still shaking and spasming uncontrollably, gritting his teeth until his gums bled green.

“Of course I am!” Horde Prime said, gesturing elegantly.

“You acknowledged my name. I am _Hordak_. Whether you live or not… I have defied your will before, and I will do it one thousand more times!”

“How fitting!” the hallucination exclaimed haughtily. “How _very fitting_. In your attempt to defy me, you will purify yourself. You will use _my tool_ to do what is ultimately my will. You will snuff yourself out and prove me forever your better. Go right ahead, Hordak, and admit it. I am better than you. I always have been better than you, able to do what you cannot with a smile. You have _regret_. You have _pain_.”

“I also have _love_!” Hordak roared. “Something you will _never_ have, you will _never_ be loved, for the only thing you can understand of love is to force people to profess their love for you even as they cry out in pain! You are a _monster_ , Horde Prime, and I am completely unlike you!”

“Then why?” Horde Prime asked. “Why do you wish to end your own miserable existence?”

“I am completely unlike you,” Hordak repeated.

“Suit yourself,” said Prime.

Hordak mounted the computer on his wrist once more, and wandered the halls, accompanied by the vision. It shadowed his every step, beckoning him. He did not want it, yet some part of his mind would not release it. Prime would forever be by him, his touch in Hordak’s mind and his tongue whispering poison into his ear. At last, he arrived at the purification chamber, the pool of liquid before him.

“How are you to do such things?” Prime asked. “To use the purification pool without me?”

Hordak gave such a thought a brief analysis. The shock could produced an effect which would cause him to recall his previous time in the pool. As such, he would instinctively repress his memories. Even without Prime’s touch, he could do such a thing.

“How many times?” Hordak asked, staring at the green liquid.

He took some of it in his hand, and watched as it dripped through his fingers. It was cool. Even the crackling of electricity did not give the purification process heat.

It dripped, dripped through his fingers. How many times had he been in this pool, and yet never had he thought to simply look at his reflection in the water. His eyes were now a deep brown, slowly turning red in shade. Soon, he would be just like he was when he had conquered Etheria. Once more would he be a mere inferior duplicate of Horde Prime. _That_ was why he had to do this.

They would still have Hordak. It would not be the one they knew, but it would be Hordak nonetheless. He would not rob Entrapta of himself, but only of the cruel one she had come to recognize. He had no place in Etheria.

_He had no place in Etheria_.

“How many times?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” Prime responded. I am merely a figment of your imagination, _Lord Hordak_.”

“Please, do not say that again.”

“Why not? It is your name. You would cast aside your name just to live with the rabble? This is what you have always been, Hordak. Pathetic.”

“Leave me.”

“Oh, I will,” Prime responded. “I already have.”

Hordak whirled around, and found that indeed, Prime had gone away. There was nothing behind him. Surely, he was going mad. Fortunately, this error could be rectified. He could cast out all things, and be reborn in purity.

Hordak examined the room. It would be the first sight the new Hordak would have. This curse would be lifted.

A single, sliding white door was the only way in and out of the round room. It could only be activated by Hordak, who had transferred control to himself. Then, there was the purification pool. Around that was a set of white stands, which the clones had always been upon. Again could he see them, standing before him, again could he hear their chanting.

He sighed, and then he heard a pounding at the door. Not the knocking of a hand. No, such a thing was impossible. Water flowed through the bottom of the door, and then the sides. After a tidal push, it fell.

“How long have you been tracking me?” he asked as he looked at the pool, the reflection of Princess Mermista within it alongside his.

“The whole time,” his pursuer said with her typical apathy. “Ever since Adora said you got out, I said I’d handle you. I always kinda thought you’d do this.”

“I see. So you have seen my journey through the ship?”

“Yeah, but, like… I don’t get it.”

“You have come here to take me back to the castle in Bright Moon. To make me pay for my crimes. Give me another few moments, and you won’t have to worry about that.”

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done from the moment Prime laid dead. I deluded myself, Princess Mermista.”

“I don’t want this.”

“What? You don’t want this? You have fought so hard to ruin my life, and now that you’re getting what you wanted, you’re finding it dissatisfying?”

“I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“It should remain that way, Princess.”

“Please just explain it.”

“Fine. This is the purification chamber. Horde Prime used this on us when we grew disobedient. Me, he used it on with great frequency. I was never a particularly obedient clone.”

“What, what does it do?”

“It represses our memories; at the very least, it will do so to me.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“It was standard procedure.”

“You don’t have to do this. You can face justice.”

“Etherian justice?” he asked. He laughed.

This was not a typical laugh; a typical laugh would bring him joy. This was dry, harsh, dark in nature. He turned to Mermista, growling softly. He unfurled his clawed fingers.

“Etherian justice would see me receive little punishment.”

“Look, the jury decides what the jury decides. That doesn’t mean you should do _this_.”

“And what, Princess? What would you see done to me? I must be removed from Etheria. I am a threat to it, and I always will be.”

“A threat?” Mermista asked, twirling her gleaming trident. “I don’t know about that.”

Hordak seethed.

“Either way, come back with me. You don’t deserve to die for this.”

“I will return in a form more fitting. I will not scare you anymore. I will not scare anyone. Never again will I be a threat to Etheria. _Never again_!”

“You’re really messed up.”

“Leave me. This is something I must do alone.”

“No.”

No? This was a peculiar response. If anyone would understand, he would think it Mermista, she who not long ago had desired to exile him from Etheria. The effect would be the same; he would be trapped forever in a strange world with no escape, no way to once more find his beloved Entrapta. At last, he clenched his fists.

“I was not asking your permission, Princess.”

“You’re coming back with me. Unconscious, if need be.”

“You think I am not a threat, Princess?”

“Yeah. I think you’re a screwed up, broken man. Not a threat.”

“Broken?”

Hordak looked at his hands. It was not an inaccurate descriptor. His body decayed, his mind was fraying every moment. As Mermista twirled her trident, he could feel the chill against his neck, a symbol of the liquid in the pool rising. It seemed she could control that as well.

“You really think you can bring me back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.”

“Then it seems, Princess, that we shall come to blows at last.”

“I’m kinda disappointed we--”

She struck before finishing her sentence. Hordak had not expected such a thing. With a perfect, smooth motion, she sent him flying toward her. Narrowly, he grinded his claws against the metal floor, tearing into it. He screamed in pain as he did so, his legs turning to jelly as he lowered himself. He struggled, to no avail.

In another blow, she had him on the floor, in the pool. She approached calmly. He looked at her, licking a droplet of green blood from his lips. He rose to his feet unsteadily, barely able to move.

“It’s over,” she said.

At once, it became clear that this was not a situation which could be resolved through strength alone. Today, he had two options. One was to surrender. He could not move so easily as to get the jump on her, and he could not defeat her in a fair fight. She was far better than he was when it came to combat; he was a warrior, but he was indeed a broken man, brought down far too easily.

“It’s not over,” he responded, looking to his personal computer, remaining mounted.

“Yeah?” she asked. “Give up. I’ll make sure everything goes fine. I don’t want you to do this.”

It was then he formulated a strategy.

“Tell me, Mermista, how many times have you faced electrocution?”

“What the hell kinda question is that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I will presume it is few, in that case.”

With a press of the button, there was a momentary shock. Hordak was used to such a sensation; he had endured it dozens of times at the hands of Prime. Mermista, however, flailed wildly. Taking the opportunity, he tackled her. She fell against the floor, squirming, unable to fight back, even as she grasped at him, trying to defeat him. He prepared for a final blow, a strike which would end this.

“You fought well, Princess,” he said. “A part of me wishes you had won.”

There she was, helpless. A single blow would end the life that had caused him such misery. Never before had he killed a Princess. Perhaps the first time would be cathartic.

Instead, he rose to his feet, shaking all the while. No. He did not wish to kill anyone else. He stepped away from her; it was a disgusting sensation to touch another, one that brought him great discomfort. Even in the heat of combat, it was fundamentally unpleasant.

“You were noble in your effort. Rest now, and do not mourn your failure.”

“Failure?” she sputtered out, alongside a hoarse chuckle.

“I will do what I always intended to.”

“I didn’t fail,” she responded, coughing. “I did what I meant to do. I bought her time.”

Who she spoke of, Hordak could not help but question. He stepped into the pool, feeling the liquid up to his waist. He could hear the voices, even that of Prime. He did not chant; rather he spoke of how sorry he was to harm Hordak. A falsehood, but one that the clone had believed too long, one he perhaps still desired to believe.

Mermista’s eyes closed. Hordak could see that she was breathing. Thus, there was little he needed to do. He looked at his reflection, and in the sound of dripping water, through the cool sensation that ran through his body and violated his spine, through the chanting and the false apologies, Hordak squeezed his eyes shut. It would all end now.

He breathed a sigh of fear and relief combined. At last, it would be over. Nevermore would Etheria see Prime’s corruption. Lord Hordak, the tyrant, would at last be gone. Into the darkness, he stared, and in his mind, he saw the life his remnant would have; Entrapta would come to see him still as a useful subject, she would care for him. At least he would be happy, and Hordak would watch every second of it silently through eyes, unable to speak or even to scream, unable to tell Entrapta that he was still there, and that he would always love her.

“Hordak!” exclaimed a familiar voice, shrill to others, yet beautiful to him.

He opened his eyes, and she was there before him. Her beautiful violet hair, her gorgeous skin. There was something in her reddened eyes, and she wore the same clothing she always did. Hordak could hardly believe it.

Entrapta was here.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Stay away. This will hurt you.”

“More than you dying will?”

“It is not death.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Even if it works, and even without that, the doctor showed me your vitals. You won’t survive staying in that thing long.”

His eyes widened momentarily. He looked at her. Death was a sensation he had come to fear, for he would be condemned to be torn apart by the shadows for eternity.

Then, he blinked. By the time he opened his eyes, the fear was gone. He could simply see her as his finger neared the button.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, wait!”

For some reason, her words compelled him. He obeyed her. He fell to his knees before Princess Entrapta. Most of his body, up to his chest, was submerged in the pool. The cool sensation caused him to shudder, and he looked at her, in all her resplendence. He could not look away.

“Why?” he asked. “What worth is there to me?”

“You could help Etheria so much.”

“Yes. I could repair damage that only happened _because I caused it_!”

“Yes! Yes, that’s how it works. Do you think _I_ was perfect, Hordak? It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

“Ah, yes. Truly, ‘mistakes’ is the best way to summarize leading a conquest of another planet for decades.”

“Stop being flippant, please. You don’t need to do this.”

“No,” he said. “No, you don’t understand. With the press of a button, I can stop it all. Never again will Etheria be threatened!”

“You’re wrong,” she said.

Hordak snarled. His finger pushed closer to the computer’s button. She shook her head frantically and desperately.

“Don’t do this.”

Again, he stayed his hand. There was something in the desperation of her voice that swayed him. The world slowed down.

Entrapta was here. She had come for him, and now he had to make her watch him die. He wondered if perhaps fate itself sought to spite him.

“I have to do this.”

“No,” she said. “I will tackle you out of that thing if you press that button.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

“Get out of that pool. It’ll be okay.”

Hordak gestured to Mermista.

“I _hurt_ people, Entrapta. It’s all I know how to do. I’m… I’m like a broken machine! And when a machine can no longer serve its purpose, you reboot it!”

“Except you’re not a machine, Hordak!” she exclaimed, growing nearer. “You’re a person! A person I care about.”

“Person? People?” he said through maddened laughter. “How many people are _dead_ because of me? How many will never see their homes again? How many families have I remorselessly torn apart, how many people will never come back? How many people have I hurt, Entrapta? _How many_?”

“Hurting yourself won’t bring them back. It won’t help anyone. I know you regret it, but--”

“ _I don’t_.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Now you get it, don’t you? This isn’t some remorseful atonement. This is not some man who cries every night thinking about it. I can think about those moments with pride. Even my greatest moments are steeped in innocent blood!”

“Yeah. And you can never pay that blood back.”

Entrapta looked to the floor. She moved her welding mask down her face. Hordak’s eyes widened, and he tried to rise, only for his legs to buckle and falter.

“Two people. It was only two.”

“What?”

“Two people died thanks to my upgrades. I’ll never forget what it was like to hear that. I was so proud of what I did with the Horde’s robots, and then I heard that. At first, I was worried too. I was still proud of it. I still wanted to push on, because I always did.”

“I’m sorry. If I had--”

“No. Don’t blame yourself. That’s my fault. I still want to take pride in my inventions, I still do. I didn’t give up in trying to help Etheria because people were hurt. The only way we can make it up to them is by pushing on to a brighter tomorrow. Now do you get it, Hordak?”

“I don’t deserve it.”

She lifted her mask again. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. More than anything, in this moment, he wanted to keep her from crying. He wanted to make her happy again.

“I will be haunted by him forever, Entrapta. What use am I? He is always there, his voice in my mind! Can I be rid of him?”

“No,” Entrapta said. “But it’s okay. Nobody will ever be able to just get over something like that. You’ll struggle with it sometimes. You’ll hear him sometimes, but I’ll be there for you. I’ve lost you before, Hordak. I’m not doing it again.”

Hordak looked at her. He didn’t understand her words. All he knew was that he wanted what she offered; a normal life. She was right, of course, right in the way she talked to him. What he had desired through this was not to answer to his sins, but to end his suffering. He had wanted to never hear Prime again, to never worry that he would hurt someone. He had thought himself Prime’s legacy, and he had wished to be conflicted no longer.

He reached his hand out toward her.

“Come home with me?” she offered.

“I promise,” he said, letting his left arm go completely slack. “You will never lose me again.”

“I want more than that,” she said. “I want you to live for yourself, too. Not for me. I care about you. You’re my partner, Hordak, you’re my friend.”

His hand was inches from hers. She was so near to him. She had saved him, and he would be eternally grateful. He looked into her eyes, those beautiful eyes that he had dreamed about for so long. She was here, and he could spend the rest of his life with her. That contented him so much that he did not notice as the computer slipped from his wrist. As their fingers touched, he felt his knees buckle again, and then they gave out.

His back landed against the personal computer. He knew what was coming. There was a soft humming as it charged momentarily, and Hordak pushed his beloved away from him. He looked at her as she rose to her feet, but it was too late. He shut his eyes, for he knew what was about to reach him.

“I love you,” he told Entrapta.

Then came the pain.

His body spasmed wildly as he fell into the pool completely, nearly drowning in the green liquid. He shook and screamed, sobbing and contorting. He clawed at any safety, trying to make his way out, but he could not control his own form. He knew that staying in much longer would mean his end. He reached out, grasping at air, his head bobbing in and out. Every part of his body was shaking, pained, in utter agony. He could not resist the pull, the pull to give up.

“Give up!” cried out the malevolent voice of Prime, blending with the chanting. “Let all things fade. _Surrender_.”

Hordak looked to the ceiling, covered in flowers. He looked at Entrapta’s face, blurred and distorted as it was. He looked at Etheria through the holes in the ceiling, at the Etherian sky.

Hordak whispered _no_.

He felt himself being lifted from the pool, his body spasming and shaking. He felt warmth through the cool liquid. He felt his body fall against the floor. He saw her, shaking and wincing, the electricity running through the body of his beloved as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

The pool crackled behind them loudly, and Hordak felt as though it would reach out and pull him back in any moment. He and Entrapta scrambled away, and he looked at her. He held her tight, feeling the shock against his body as well as hers. He took as much pain as he could, and clasped his hand in hers.

She laid before him, eyes shut. He stood there, mouth open. Had she perished all due to him?

Then she breathed. Then her eyes opened. Then, something new, something unexpected.

She kissed him.

Hordak had never been in favor of physical contact with other species, but this… this was unnaturally calming. It was as though Prime, Mermista, Etheria itself faded. It was as though the only things in the world were himself and Entrapta. Her eyes fluttered as she rode out the pain, and then she wrapped her arms around Hordak.

“I love you too,” she said.

Hordak heard hoarse laughter. Mermista had awoken, it seemed, and she sat up, looking as though she had merely suffered a nasty headache. Hordak rested his head on Entrapta’s shoulder.

“I knew it!” Mermista exclaimed, before promptly passing out again.

Indeed. It seemed the prosecution had sometimes been correct. Entrapta cupped Hordak’s face, and she kissed him again.

This, he knew, he could get used to. Although, he would prefer if next time he kissed her, it were not in such dire circumstances.

The next few hours were a blur. Adora, it seemed, had been rushing through the ship trying to find him. Eventually, she did find him, cuddling with Entrapta, the two of them barely conscious. By the time he had been awakened, he was back in the guest room, against the futon, Entrapta’s hair curled around him and his beloved in his arms.

No more was his mind twisted. No more did Prime speak. He knew Prime would return, and when he did, he would face Hordak.

Adora was sitting there, in a wooden chair. Had she watched them slumber? Setting aside how strangely caring that was of her, he would admit to himself that he would have liked some privacy. Even so, she had likely been trying to ensure his safety.

“Hi,” Adora said in a quiet voice.

“Hi,” Hordak responded.

He wanted to shift position, but Entrapta was lying on top of him. He deemed it best not to disturb her rest. He looked at Adora.

“I’m…”

Adora’s eyes were red. Hordak supposed she had cried for him. He shook his head, yet it felt nice to feel worth tears for once.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Hordad… I, I mean, Hordak.”

Hordak chuckled faintly; not the mirthless chuckle of before, but a genuine, warm chuckle. He looked at her, and he wondered if perhaps it was not too late to make amends.

“Adora, I am sorry. For everything.”

“I know you are,” she said. “I accept your apology. Uh, Mermista doesn’t, though.”

“Is she still irate that I electrocuted her?”

“You _what_? No, she’s just been fuming in her room with ice cream. Sea Hawk has declared that he will be taking her role as prosecution.”

“Is that allowed?”

“We have no idea. Glimmer’s completely overwhelmed by all this, and she’s kinda just going with it.”

“I shall have to give her an apology.”

“You almost killed yourself, Hordak. You doing okay?”

That was strange. He was… okay. It was as though a bad dream was over, at least for now.

“I’m alright,” he said. “I hope I did not hurt Mermista too badly.”

“She’s taken worse scrapes. I think she’ll be okay.”

Hordak sighed as Entrapta’s eyes fluttered open. He gently stroked her hair, taking care not to hurt her. She nuzzled her face into his neck, and he felt as though nothing would be better than holding her.

“We, uh, we do have a problem, though.”

“A problem?”

“Yeah, so, uh, word got on the street in an hour, I think it was Double Trouble, but, Bright Moon knows you broke out and assaulted the prosecution. They don’t know any of the context.”

“It is _technically_ true,” Hordak said.

“Yeah, but… okay, I don’t actually know the circumstances of that.”

“Much to my surprise, Mermista had come to save my life. She is an odd sort of Princess, Mermista, but she fought a noble fight.”

“Yeah. I hope you never have to fight one of us again.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I will not. My fighting days are long past me… if Entrapta cannot repair me.”

Entrapta’s ears perked up. She looked at Hordak with a gleam in her eye that almost scared him. He kissed her forehead as she began to ramble.

“Oh, I have so many ideas! Alright, how about we modify your armor to be much, much smaller, like an endoskeleton instead of an exoskeleton! Ooh, ooh! Or we could finish Prime’s genetic modification technology, he won’t be using it anymore, and we could make it into a really nice black and blue and red color scheme!”

“It seems my illness has you excitable, Entrapta.”

“Well, plus, I’ve had so many ideas! Prime was… not all there, but imagine what we can do to help with his technology! I see you’ve met my security bots… and wrecked them.”

“I didn’t destroy your security bots; I knew your authorization code.”

“How’d you guess?”

Hordak took from the pocket of his dress the crystal. “Because it reads ‘LUVD’ on this. I assumed you would have a fitting code, and… you did. Somewhere, deep down, I think I knew you’d come for me.”

“Yeah,” Entrapta said. “How could I not? You’re so--”

“Fascinating?”

Entrapta looked at him, and blinked. She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Y’know, I was gonna say pretty.”

Hordak blushed profusely, his ears drooping. She looked at him for a moment, and then kissed him as warmly as she could. He purred gently into it, and Adora, whose face had gone slightly red, left.

“You think I’m pretty?” Hordak asked, with all the dignity of a cadet.

“Duh!” Entrapta said. “You’re really pretty. Has nobody pointed that out?”

Hordak scratched his head. “I suppose not.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“My imperfections?”

Entrapta kissed his neck playfully. “Well, yeah, but everything about you. You’re really beautiful.”

“You… too… are pleasing in appearance.”

Entrapta giggled slightly. “You’re so awkward!” she said.

“Well, I have spent most of my life serving under Horde Prime, who did not allow casual social interaction, and who stamped out any sense of individuality.”

“Horde Prime.”

“Yes? What of him?”

“You said you still see him.”

“I do. He still comes to me sometimes, in nightmares and hallucinations.”

“You need therapy.”

“I do not need…”

He thought for a moment.

“I most definitely need therapy.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I helped hook Catra and Adora up with a couples’ therapist. I mean, I was looking at one for us, and then Adora said ‘Y’know, Catra traumatized me a little bit, and she’s sorry, but it’s still trauma,’ and I was happy to find something for them.”

“How do you feel about Catra?”

Entrapta’s nose wrinkled.

“I’m mad at her. I pretend I’m not, but I am. She sent me to Beast Island, a place that picked at my insecurities. It was pretty unpleasant. Besides, if she hadn’t, I think I could’ve talked you out of going with Prime.”

“There was a time I wished he would not come for me. When I was with you.”

She clasped her hand in his. They embraced. He could stare into her eyes for hours; no, more than hours. He could stare into her eyes for an eternity.

“With proper treatment, will I retain my agelessness?”

“Maybe?” Entrapta said. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t age.”

“I will, if we do not do perfectly in repairing my genetic defects.”

“I think we could pull it off.”

“I do not want to.”

“Hordak? You don’t want to die, right?”

“No. I don’t want to die. I want to _live_. I would survive forever, but living without you… that would be no life at all.”

“I didn’t know you had a poetic side!” Entrapta cooed.

“Silence,” Hordak muttered, blushing again.

Entrapta cupped her hands around his face, and pressed her forehead to his. He stared helplessly into the constellations in her eyes. He could not move, he could not run away. This was a sensation he hoped would never leave him, never in his life.

“Hordak?” she asked, drumming her fingers up and down his neck.

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t me leaving you alone, right? That’s not what caused this?”

“No,” he responded softly. “No, do not blame yourself for the machinations of my twisted mind.”

“It really, I don’t know. I’m not sure how to feel yet.”

“It’s alright,” Hordak responded. “It’s alright.”

“I just… so soon after we got to be together again, they split us up again. I was off fixing Etheria, and you were off standing trial.”

“It’s my fault,” Hordak said. “I should not have chosen to stand trial. I wanted to repair my public image, to protect you and my brethren.”

“Protect me?” Entrapta asked.

“Yes,” Hordak said sharply.

“Hordak, that’s sweet, but I don’t need protection. I can handle myself just fine.”

“I am sorry.”

She gently kissed his neck. It sent a delighted tingling down his spine. He held her tighter, and heard her gasp slightly. Immediately, he released her.

“No, no, no…” he muttered.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing.”

“Hordak, don’t lie to me. Whatever it is, you’re clearly upset.”

“A nightmare,” he said. “I had a nightmare, where I clutched you too tight and ended your life. Where I conquered the armada of Prime.”

“It’s okay,” Entrapta said.

“No!” Hordak said, scratching at the cushions of the futon.

The cushions were no longer shredded. In fact, looking at this futon, it was clearly black and blue, rather than the previous brown and maroon coloration. This was an entirely different piece of furniture, it seemed.

Someone had replaced his futon. Perhaps it was a caring gesture from Adora. Perhaps they had merely seen his damaged furniture, and desired to repair it.

Hordak lifted his hand, and before he knew it, it was warm, Entrapta’s hands clasped around it. He looked into her eyes. They were still so beautiful, so indescribably, cataclysmically gorgeous. These, he knew, were the eyes he had betrayed Prime for; these were the eyes he would give a previous lifetime to see again, the hands he would sacrifice decades to hold. This was Entrapta, the one he loved so dearly.

“It’s not alright,” Hordak said. “It was a false delusion!”

“It’s okay,” Entrapta said, leaning in close. “Everyone has nightmares.”

“Not me,” Hordak responded. “I did not dream until the hive mind was severed.”

“What do you dream of other nights?”

“Freedom,” Hordak said. “A universe to explore with you.”

Entrapta beamed with glee. Hordak’s eyes widened. It was clear she was formulating something in that beautiful mind of hers.

“Oh!” she said, clutching his shoulders. “Oh, oh, oh! We could _do_ that! I mean, maybe not now, we’ve gotta fix Etheria, but we could do that! We could go with Adora and our friends and help restore magic to the universe! Wouldn’t that be so cool?”

“It would indeed be quite the experience.”

“Plus, we could… ooh! We could get so many good scientific readings! Wouldn’t it be amazing? We could reverse-engineer First Ones technology.”

Hordak grinned at that.

“Prime would be so angry,” he said.

“Yeah,” said a different voice, this one dull in nature. “I bet big brother would.”

Hordak’s gaze snapped to the door. He narrowed his gaze. Entrapta rose from the futon, and he, her hands still wrapped around his, pulled her back down gently. He caressed her hair.

Mermista stood at the door, as one would perhaps expect. She thankfully did not look injured; Hordak could not deny that she looked irate, but that hardly mattered. If he were to be bothered every time a citizen of Etheria was irate, he would fall apart far too easily.

“Hey,” Mermista said.

“State your business,” Hordak said as Entrapta shuffled onto his lap. Fortunately, some strength remained in him; he continued to caress her hair.

“I just came to check on you. Seems like you’re doing okay.”

“A mistake was made…”

Entrapta looked at him.

“It was erroneous to…”

She glared at him slightly.

“Alright! Alright. I am sorry, Mermista, for attacking you at the purification pool. I was not in my right mind, and I will attempt to make amends.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “You’ve done a lot of bad things, but I’m not about to throw more stuff at you when you were, y’know, in the throes of madness a little bit.”

“I would not call it madness.”

“It wasn’t an ice cream bath, I’ll tell you that.”

Entrapta looked between the two, confused. Hordak laughed. He patted Entrapta’s head, and she drummed her fingers along his torso.

“Yes. It was quite the affair, but I believe I am… alright now.”

“I came to apologize.”

“Don’t bother,” Hordak responded. “I do not need an apology.”

“I’ve been completely unfair in the way I’ve conducted this trial. I’ve been looking for every advantage I can get, picked up every weakness, and it’s not, like, good.”

“You thought you were doing Etheria a service, Princess. I will not criticize you for trying to serve your people.”

“Well,” she said, looking down. “Whatever.”

“We all make errors, Princess. I assure you, mine are greater than yours.”

Without a word, she left. Entrapta planted a small kiss on Hordak’s cheek, and he looked to her. This had all been such a rush, he had not even realized that she was the first person he had ever kissed. Dozens of times in so short a span, she had kissed him.

Never before had Hordak been kissed. Never had he truly been held; Prime had never believed his clones needed, or deserved for that matter, affection. Now, Entrapta held him. She _kissed him_. It was a strange feeling, a physiological response combined with pure, raw emotion. He could feel as though the world slipped away, as though there would be no trial.

He turned to Entrapta.

“Entrapta, I let you go too easily. I do not understand this. I do not understand why you would kiss me, why you would love me. There are thousands like me across Etheria, who will not age. They will remain ‘pretty’ forever. I do not see why you would ever desire one so… inferior.”

“Because they’re not you. They look like you, and in time I think they’ll find their own appearances, but they’re not you. They never will be you. When I was in the Alliance, I always felt like they didn’t understand. Then, even in the Horde, Scorpia and Catra, they tried, but they just couldn’t understand. You, though, you understood. Do you think your brothers would understand?”

“They would not.”

“Exactly. That’s the thing. I don’t care about how pretty you are. I love you how you are, and I’ll love you no matter how you become. You were the first lab partner I ever had.”

“Preposterous,” Hordak responded. “Surely you had lab partners before that.”

“No. Everyone was scared of me. They thought I was just weird, but you understood. You were the first, and I… I want to stay with you. You were the first person who told me there was more to life. You made me feel like I wasn’t a failure.”

How inconceivable. A Princess desired to stay with a monster, rather than with an innocent. There were so many out there, so many who would maintain his beauty, who would be vastly superior as romantic partners or even friends. They had not his temper, nor his disfigurations and biological degeneration, yet she had chosen _him_.

“I… I am a failure. I have not aided Etheria, I--”

She shushed him with a finger to his lips.

“You’re not a failure,” she said with a warm smile. “Any who discount you are utter fools.”

He blushed again.

“I… I love you too.”

She nestled into his chest. He held her. He knew that he should think better of it; tomorrow, he would face the jury for the last time, and they would perhaps decide that he could never be with Entrapta again. She had finally found a place on Etheria, and he would not tear that from her if he were to be exiled.

That was tomorrow.

Tonight, he and Entrapta were together. They held one another. She had saved him. Tonight, the world was perfect.

What Hordak would give for tonight to last for an eternity.


	6. To Serve In Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, everyone! The finale you've all been waiting for! We'd like to thank you all for following us on this journey, and for all the love and comments you've given! If. by the end of this chapter you have any lingering questions about Trial, please find us on Tumblr @ tea-with-nyarlathotep.
> 
> It has been the honor of TeaWithNyarlathotep to bring you on this journey with us. Thank you all, beloved readers and friends.

It had been a beautiful dream.

He and Entrapta had been in a flower meadow, a place of beautiful greenery and nature. He had held her tight, and it had been as though there was nothing. None assailed them, none attacked them. There was only Hordak, Entrapta, and a bright blue sky.

Such a shame all dreams had to end.

By the time Hordak awoke, she was already staring out the repaired window. He approached her, breathing quietly. He placed a hand upon her shoulder. She turned to him, her eyes slightly red.

A thousand times, they had faced horror and heartbreak. A thousand times had they lost one another; well, more like a few, but it hardly mattered. It felt as though a thousand.

He had lost everything once. Now, he had regained it after such struggle. He had his identity back. He had his beloved. As they looked out at the majestic dawn, as he took her hand, he knew that they were so near to losing it all once more. Even through the doors, he could hear them spread foul falsehoods of his name. Lies that he had heard so many times, ones he would have spoken even of himself. If not for his error, an emotionally-driven mistake that had led him out the window and into Prime’s ship, Hordak would have won the trial with utter certainty.

No, it was his nature to sacrifice his own good. That was who Hordak was as a being; he was the sort of man who could look at the world, and would find a way to make it worse. He gritted his teeth.

Then, the feelings of self-hatred washed away. Entrapta pecked him on the cheek. He looked to her, and she smiled. Her hair ran up his arms, and reached his shoulders. He could not help but smile as well.

“You’re awfully cute when you smile,” she said.

“I’m not cute,” he muttered.

“Oh! You’re blushing again! Oh, you’re so, so cute!”

Hordak looked at her. There was a way that her heart was reflected in her eyes; Etheria had a saying, a saying that the eyes were a window to the soul. As Hordak looked into her eyes, he wondered if Entrapta believed in such things.

“Entrapta,” he softly murmured, looking away from her. “We are so close to a complete loss. What if we fail? What if we must be separated again?”

Entrapta clung to him. There were no words. She pressed her face into his chest, and he held her tight.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I love you. I have only recently learned of love; why now should I be forced to give it up?”

Entrapta chuckled quietly, in that soft, ecstatic way she did so frequently. Perhaps it was quiet only due to being muffled by his chest. It was of little consequence.

“You didn’t even know what love was?”

Hordak felt his face grow warm. He predicted he was likely blushing again. It seemed to bring Entrapta joy, and thus it was fortunate.

“No,” Hordak said. “I was aware of Etherian courtship rituals. I did some reading on the side, strictly necessary research so as to discover any strategic weaknesses in… in love.”

“You thought love was a weakness?”

“Prime always taught us that the only true love was his own. All other love was merely a weapon. He had sent occasional agents on missions he termed as utilizing those methods, although there was an odd tendency amongst those clones to have to be purified the moment they came back.”

“They fell in love, Hordak.”

Hordak’s eyes widened. Yes. He supposed that was likely accurate.

“That was the only love they ever knew. Horde Prime never loved them, but he sent them to experience it just so he could rip it away from him.”

“My brother was among the cruelest men alive.”

Hordak gently stepped away. She looked to him, and her hair remained on his shoulders, clinging to him. He curled his fingers inward.

“Do you think we could have changed him, Entrapta? Do you think mercy would have changed him as it did Catra? As it did me?”

Entrapta looked at Hordak, and smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think, deep down, if you pushed far enough, you could probably have changed Prime a long time ago. By that point, though, he was gone. There was nothing left to save.”

“It’s sad,” Hordak said.

“It is,” Entrapta said. “Horde Prime did far worse than you or Catra ever did. He wasn’t just some hurt young person. Horde Prime, whether he started like you, ended up being someone who wanted control. He wanted to feed his own ego so badly that everything else came next. I think, after enough time, anyone on that path could have become like he was if they kept pushing on.”

“What of me?” he asked, closing his eyes.

“I doubt it,” she said. “You have lines. Even before you met me, you saved Adora.”

“How did you learn of that?”

“Adora and I had a few heart-to-hearts before you showed up. She made the Princesses apologize for the way they treated me.”

A satisfactory result; the Princesses had not quite understood Entrapta. True, she could be shortsighted in some regards, but their ultimate result had been to treat her in a matter unbefitting her. While their frustration was understandable, Hordak found their treatment of Entrapta lacking.

Then again, he would.

“You were always good. It was buried deep down. I think Prime was the other way around. He pretended to be good, but he gave into that side of himself that craved pride at all costs.”

“You are so intelligent,” Hordak said. “Beautiful as well. I am surprised I am your first suitor.”

Entrapta smiled. “Oh, I’ve had plenty of robot boyfriends and girlfriends! It could never really compare to the real thing, that’s all.”

That was quite the thing to give up, just for Hordak. He wondered if he even deserved it. _Yes_ , he firmly decided. That mentality, that idea that he was worth nothing and he would have to compensate so as to be worth something, it was what had caused his vile deeds on Etheria before. He could not allow it to slink into his mind again; not now, at least.

“I wish we could have brought him back,” Hordak said. “I wish we could have made him see the light.”

“I don’t,” Entrapta responded. “Horde Prime didn’t just make his choice. He made it a contract and signed in the blood of a lot of species. Keeping him around would have risked Etheria, and not in a way that we could afford. He was so far gone.”

“If I could go back in time, so as to save Prime before evil took him, I would.”

“I wouldn’t,” Entrapta said, leaning in close.

“Why?” he asked. “So many people would be spared if I stopped his conquest.”

“There’s no point in saying what we would do if we could change the past. We can’t. What we can change is the future. We _will_ change it. Today.”

Hordak smiled. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and then lifted her up. He held her in his arms.

“You don’t have your armor!” Entrapta exclaimed giddily as he held her, her feet dangling precariously above the floor.

“I don’t need it for this,” Hordak said.

His vision did blur slightly. Nonetheless, he held Entrapta. She nuzzled his neck, and he sat, hoping he would get to spend another thousand nights like this.

“You’re really sweet,” Entrapta said.

“I am not sweet,” Hordak said.

“Okay, but you cloned yourself and kept the clone as your little miniature you! If that’s not sweet I don’t know what it is.”

“It is no different to what you did with your robot, Emily.”

Entrapta’s eyes widened. “Ooh!” she exclaimed. “Emily! Emily is coming, Hordak! She’s gonna be here today!”

At least that would bring joy.

“I am sorry,” Hordak said. “I should not have risked our opportunities to be together.”

“It’s okay,” Entrapta said. “You weren’t all there.”

“No,” Hordak grumbled. “I suppose I was not.”

The door creaked open. A young woman loudly cleared her throat. Entrapta scrambled back to the futon, and at the door, Hordak saw Adora. She was clad in a suit, its jacket some odd shade of purple and the shirt a light pink. Her tie was perfect, and her hair had been let down. She looked, in a way, as magical as she did as She-Ra. Hordak wondered if it would perhaps be considered untoward if he told her such a thing, although he meant it in complete honesty. He decided it was best not to say it at all.

Entrapta, however, had made no such guarantees.

“You’re so _pretty_!” Entrapta exclaimed.

Hordak rumbled slightly and crossed his arms. Entrapta darted back and forth, examining Adora’s appearance. She occasionally poked at her, albeit taking care not to do it too much. Adora merely laughed as she did so. Then came an expression of dire tidings, a grim scowl on her face.

“Entrapta, can I have a minute alone with the defendant?”

Entrapta gave Hordak a close, held gaze. She nodded, and left. Hordak reached out a hand to her, but she was already gone. His mood soured somewhat, he returned to the futon and crossed his arms.

“Princess,” he said.

“Last day. This could be it.”

“This will be the day that, if we make any mistake, I will lose Entrapta forever.”

“ _Or_ it could be the day that we finally put this whole thing to rest. We could make it clear you’re innocent; you didn’t have any more agency in your crimes than any other clone.”

“ _Or_ I could be beset by a tide of foul voices.”

“Wow. Sounds like something Catra would’ve written when she was twelve.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright,” Adora said with a smile. “You don’t quite have a handle on this ‘normal person’ thing. It’s really nice to see you adapting a bit. Becoming healthier. Mentally, at least.”

“My armor?” Hordak asked.

“On its way. You’ll have to wear it in the courtroom, I think. You’ve got the crystal?”

Hordak pushed two fingers into his dress’s pocket and pulled it out. He looked at himself in it. He looked just as he had throughout his conquest of Etheria. It was a mixture of memories; among that time had been his greatest accomplishments, yet the screams of innocents followed every one of those accomplishments.

There was a time for lamentations, and a time when they would suit him no more. Lamentations would serve no purpose but to harm all further. They would bring no salvation. Lamentations did not repair homes. The only thing they would bring was pain, pain for everyone involved.

“We are prepared, correct?” asked Hordak.

“Yeah,” Adora said. “We have a few problems. It’s dueling testimonies.”

“Dueling testimonies?”

“There’s no more need for witnesses. All we’ve gotta do is convince the jury.”

It seemed Etherian justice was abnormal indeed.

“Alright,” Hordak said. “That should not be heard. You are capable of bringing empathy out of almost anyone.”

“Almost,” Adora said. “I… I looked into Prime’s mind for a second.”

She looked down at the floor. Hordak gasped. “Have you seen him too?”

“Not as much as you,” Adora said. “He was just a monster. In that second, I felt what he felt, and he felt cold. It was like there wasn’t a bit of empathy, not a bit of morality, nothing. There was nothing. For all he seemed overjoyed, he, he was _miserable_ , and he was determined to take it out on everyone else.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Adora said. “It’s not your fault. You’re ten times the victim I am.”

“Please do not characterize me by my victimization,” Hordak slurred, his vision blurring. “I intend to be more than that.”

“You’re trying so hard,” Adora said. “I wish I could make them see that.”

“They see only what they see. From the perspective of an outsider, I am a warlord, and you seek to bring me no more repercussions. I ask whether you would have given any other the same mercy.”

“I believe everyone deserves mercy,” Adora said.

“Everyone but Prime.”

“Are you…”

“No. No, I am not criticizing your decision to end Prime’s life. That was driven by necessity. I have always believed that, when necessary, one should take a life to spare others. It should be a last resort, but if you had not done it, he would have wiped out all of Etheria.”

“He would’ve killed us along with him.”

“Precisely. It was an extreme measure. Extreme, but necessary.”

“I still wish I didn’t have to! It, it haunts me sometimes. When I did it, he screamed. There was something in there, struggling.”

“ _Something_ ,” Hordak repeated. “He was so very cruel. I did not hesitate to try and kill him when the time came. In fact, I _relished_ the opportunity. Yet, after I did it, it did not satisfy me. All I could question was why it did not satisfy me.”

“Huh,” Adora said.

“Let us speak of this no more. Thank you for that.”

“Don’t thank me,” Adora said. “We haven’t won yet.”

“We are engaged in a battle of wits with _Sea Hawk_. We have already won.”

“Uh, about that, we can’t--”

“What? We cannot beat Sea Hawk?”

“No, we--”

“What will he do, sing an epic shanty to convince the jury of my exile?”

“I mean, he would, but--”

“He is Sea Hawk, he is of no threat to--”

“ _It’s Netossa_!” Adora exclaimed.

Hordak’s eyes widened. He grimaced. He found himself in stunned silence, for, as far as he could calculate, about two entire minutes. It was then he spoke.

“How did this occur?”

“So, here’s the deal. Sea Hawk got word through the grapevine that you beat up Mermista.” Hordak looked awkwardly at the polished floor, his distorted reflection looking back. That was not how he would have put it.

“Alright. Thus, he chose to take her role?”

“Right. Except then he got word that you were wearing your armor, so he assumed it was a trial by combat. He drew a laser sword, accidentally sliced a table in half. Then, he, uh, ran away declaring that he would duel you for Mermista’s hand, I think he might’ve been kinda drunk, and then he went to Salineas and set his own ship on fire while yelling that he would slay you where you stood but then stopped to reconsider that statement and dropped the torch and accidentally set several more ships on fire, and this guy named Fëanor lodged a complaint, and he’s in jail, and then word got to Glimmer, and then...”

Adora took a loud gasp of breath. Hordak was simply trying to follow along. This was truly a comedy of errors, written by the most deft of hands.

“...then Netossa’s kingdom got word of it and they told her she had to do it and she was a little enthusiastic because she’s still mad about that time her wife got chipped. She didn’t want to have you exiled, but her kingdom had its requests and she ended up showing up and taking his place as prosecution, so now we’re going to have to face her.”

Adora panted for breath after her little recap was complete. Ah, how strange the things that could happen overnight. Hordak was tempted to applaud Sea Hawk for giving what was likely quite the spectacle. Of course, that did beg the question of why Salineas had jails and Bright Moon did not.

“So, we are doomed,” Hordak said. Even if Sea Hawk were in jail, that hardly guaranteed them victory. Netossa was much more fearsome an opponent.

“Hey, we can still do this.”

“Princess, let us be clear. Had Netossa taken to the role of sole tactician among the Princess Alliance, the Horde’s advance would have been stopped in its tracks.”

“You mean that? Wait, if you fought every Princess, doesn’t that mean you fought Netossa? How’d that go?”

Hordak scratched at his hands. He recalled Force Captain Lonnie having to pull a net of hard light from him after Netossa had been forced to retreat by the thundering of his battleship’s cannons. Rarely was Hordak so effortlessly ambushed.

“It ended in a draw,” Hordak lied. “Neither of us could harm the other.”

Adora raised an eyebrow.

“She beat me,” Hordak said under his breath. “Very, very badly. Her victory was absolute.”

Adora broke into laughter. She guffawed furiously, clutching her stomach as she pointed at Hordak like a child. He began to laugh along. In retrospect, some of these things were indeed humorous in nature; among them, perhaps, was the fact that every other Princess he had faced, he had clearly gotten the upper hand against. Netossa, however, he had not even seen coming.

After the laughter died down, Hordak’s face grew grim. This was, in fact, some of the worst tidings he had ever heard. The prospect of facing Netossa in court, especially in a matter of dueling testimonies, was not a light one whatsoever. No, she would be fierce and she would be uncompromising. There was little hope to defeat her in a battleground of reasoning, thus they would have to do so in a battleground of empathy.

Empathy. Hordak had hardly known the definition of the word. Before, long before, he had heard it. That hardly mattered now, for he had rejected its offering in the past. Every time he had been offered an ally, a friend, he had bid them cast aside their pity and their pretense of morality. Exclusively Prime was to determine what morality and law were; any other who sought to disobey his word had been heretics.

Heresy. Heresy defined by a man who thought himself a deity. Hordak could only groan at how foolish he had been. Such errors he had made in pursuit of love he would never have found with Prime.

Now was not the time to dwell on errors. They required a proper defense, lest Hordak find himself losing all that he had finally gained.

“We need a defense,” he said.

“Yeah,” Adora muttered. “Duh. I don’t mean to be a fool, but I’ve got nothing on Mermista. She’s practically a professional law-yer compared to me.”

“You are hardly a fool,” Hordak said. “I would even think your oratory skill superior to that of the Princess. Her tactical skill, however, far exceeds yours.”

Adora shook her head. “She’s got us cornered. We don’t even know her arguments, and we’re supposed to have dueling testimonies? She’s gonna have you exiled in about five minutes.”

Hordak assumed that statement was likely what Etherians called hyperbole. He did not only assume such, in fact. He hoped such a thing were true. If it were not hyperbole, he would have little time.

“Think, Adora. What is she likely to say?”

“Alright. She’s gonna drop the fact you escaped as proof of your agency and guilt.”

“State the truth.”

“Right, but she’ll point out that _we’re_ the only witnesses to your escape, and we’re a little biased.”

“We cannot summon Mermista to corroborate the story.”

“Yeah, and we wouldn’t want to either. She was grumbling about how you got Sea Hawk arrested.”

Hordak scoffed. “Does she truly blame me for the actions of the fool?”

“Yes.”

Hordak scowled. “That is fair. The electrocution could not have aided her reasoning skills; I will admit it was not polite on my part.”

“Yeah,” Adora said, rolling her eyes. “It might’ve been a bit of a _faux pas_ for you to electrocute the prosecution.”

Hordak would accept the likelihood of social deficiencies in that regard. He would need to work on that. Still, there was more important business to attend to.

He thought of asking about the other clones, using them as a defense, but it would hardly be a proud moment to hold his brethren up as a shield. Their actions were not identical to his own; he had spent years on Etheria. He had so many chances.

He wondered how many chances Prime had. How many people had begged. If he had chosen even once to compromise, even once to spare someone from his control, he could perhaps have found a fair trial for himself.

Prime, Hordak had inexplicably grown to think about. A monster, certainly, but still his brother. His progenitor, evil as he was, had been the only reason he lived. Perhaps he had some level of residual gratitude.

“Indeed,” Hordak said. “We need a new tactic if we are to stand against Netossa. There can be no simple appeal to the pity of the jurors; such things do not stretch so far. We must go further.”

“Further?” Adora asked. “How?”

“Point out the logical fallacy in sending me away.”

“No,” Adora responded. “We can’t pull that one off. I could still call in a favor.”

“I will not sacrifice my brethren by delegitimizing this affair!”

“Your brothers aren’t your responsibility.”

“They _are_ ,” Hordak growled. “They would not be stranded here if not for me.”

“They wouldn’t have free will if not for you!”

Hordak nearly plunged his hand into the futon, yet he stopped himself. He took a deep breath. He continued to breathe, his breath shaky and panicked.

“They would crown me their leader, Adora, their hero. It is not a role I deserve.”

“I get it,” Adora said. “I really do. I know what it’s like to see it all as your quest, to be desperate to be a savior. The way you see it, everything there, you’ve gotta fix it all.”

“They are my _brothers_ , Adora. I am the one they hail to, and I know that I am merely a lovestruck fool! How am I to lead them?”

“Who said you have to?” Adora asked. “I was gifted with power. I was the only one capable of saving Etheria, but you’re not the only one who can help the clones.”

“I am the only one they chose to lead them.”

“Then tell them to stuff their choice, Hordak! You’re not leadership material; you couldn’t lead the Horde and you don’t want to lead the clones. We won’t get anywhere by putting you in charge when you don’t want to be.”

Hordak hissed. He felt as though his lungs burned. “They worship a murderer and a fool.”

“It’s better than worshipping Prime,” Adora said.

The criminal would concede that point.

“We cannot prove me innocent when I am not, Adora. Netossa will defeat us with hardly even effort, and I will be gone.”

“ _Or_ we could stop it here.”

“We cannot,” Hordak said. “What manner of precedent would that set for the rest of Etheria? You are not a tyrant, Adora; even the slightest step could lead you in that direction.”

“I wouldn’t become a tyrant, Hordak.”

“I believed the same when I landed. Tyranny does not come when you expect it. Evil slips past you. You break a throne to have a home and a name. You either feel guilt and go mad, or you call it collateral damage. You call it collateral damage when you begin exiling treacherous underlings. You call it _collateral damage_ when you _murder_ civilians in the name of conquest.”

“This is different!”

“You see it that way, at first. You are using this power for a good cause, thus it is good. A good cause is never enough. I believed myself to be fighting for a good cause.”

“I want to help you.”

“I believe you, Adora, but I will not see Etheria’s hero forsake that heroism. You saved Etheria because of what it stood for. If we prevail legitimately, we could see a complete restoration of all it stands for.”

“You’re crazy. I wouldn’t become a tyrant because I helped you.”

“No, but it would become easier. You would begin by saying that you helped me. Then it would become that anything which needed to be done, you could do. Etheria bends its knee to you if you so will it, Adora.”

“I don’t want power.”

“No,” Hordak said. “Nor did I.”

“This is a completely different situation! I’m offering to save you, and you’re turning it down because you hate yourself.”

Hordak stood up. He shook his head. He wandered to the window.

“I will not allow even the risk of it, Adora. Indeed, you would not become a tyrant; what, then, of those who will come after? What of your successors? We should not have them think that they who wield the power of She-Ra can do anything.”

“The power…” Adora muttered.

Hordak turned to her. “ _You_ have the power. It is within you. Who will receive it next, I know not, but do not make them believe that any with the power can determine anything they please. If Etheria should sacrifice that which made it better than Prime, then it was not worth saving.”

Adora nodded solemnly. “You’re right. I can’t just pull a favor whenever I want. We’ve gotta win this one fair and square.”

Hordak nodded as well. “And if we lose, let us lose. It is better to have fought and lost than to have sacrificed that which we truly believed in.”

“You’re weirdly philosophical.”

Hordak felt a sudden pain in his abdomen, searing and debilitating in nature. He stumbled to the floor, and pressed a hand to it. He growled, gritting his teeth, green blood flowing out slowly past degrading red teeth, striking the floor. He looked into the mirror he had once viewed Entrapta through, the mirror on the wall, and saw that his makeup had smeared and destroyed itself.

“Coming within seconds of death does these things,” Hordak admitted.

“Are you okay?”

“I am alright. Alright as I ever will be, at least.”

“Good,” Adora said.

Hordak wiped the blood from his teeth. It seemed there was internal damage as well. He would require the aid of Entrapta to don his armor once more, but it would ease the pain at least long enough to endure the trial. Then, they could work on a method to repair his body. The most brilliant mind in Etheria could do such things. He was certain of it.

“Alright,” Adora said, clenching her hands into fists and narrowing her gaze. “We’ve gotta handle this perfectly if we’re gonna beat Netossa. We have a complete disadvantage in dueling testimonies. There are a thousand logical points as to why you should be exiled, starting with simple justice.”

“The justice of Etheria is meant to be restorative, is it not?”

“She could say you’re not our problem. That your presence would attract the people hunting you down and you should find redemption out there. I’ve sure you’ve made a few enemies.”

“Indeed.” Hordak would likely face the might of entire star systems if he were released.

“Okay, okay,” Adora said. “So, we’ve gotta get a response to that.”

“Argue that it is cruel to send me out there where I could be killed.”

“Yes, except she can say that it’s not our problem, and that it’d be cruel to our people to draw threats to Etheria because we feel like being merciful to you.”

Hordak nearly struck his own thigh with rage.

“I don’t get it,” Adora said. “Why is there a comeback to everything we can say? Glimmer said it, the trial is about whether you were able to choose.”

“Prime is dead. I think we know the answer.”

“Fine. So you’re guilty.”

“Of _course_ I am guilty!” Hordak exclaimed. “I have been guilty since I destroyed the throne of the Scorpion Kingdom. I did not feel I had any choice, but that does not excuse my actions.”

“Of course it doesn’t, but we believe in giving people freedom to atone. Can’t we tell them that?”

Hordak turned away. He looked at the mirror, and looked around the room. At last, in a corner of the decorated wall, he saw the small kit Double Trouble had delivered to him. He looked upon it, and wandered to it.

“No,” Hordak said. “They do not want atonement. They do not want repair. They want _blood_ , Adora, and I cannot blame them. I have only added crimes to myself, and they likely will not understand. There will be no forgiveness.”

“Why?” Adora asked.

“Did you think that all evil in the universe came from Prime, Princess?” Hordak chuckled. “An incorrect assumption. Deep down, every one of us has evil buried within. For them, it is coming out, emerging ever so briefly.”

“I know,” Adora said. “I don’t see why they won’t listen to reason!”

“Would I have listened to reason?” Hordak asked. “They have been raised, their entire lives, believing I was evil. That did not change because I changed.”

“I know, but you changed.”

“Of course I changed, Princess, but the world does not revolve around me. I understand their anger. I would have felt it. I _did_ feel it when Catra took all from me. How many lovers have I taken, who will not return to their beloveds as Entrapta did?”

“Fair,” Adora said.

“Indeed. I have only myself to blame for this boiling anger the jurors have.”

“Fine. So we need a way to tone down that anger. We need to make them see reason.”

“More difficult than it sounds.”

“Yeah, but I managed to make Huntara turn. I managed to make Shadow Weaver turn.”

Hordak slammed a fist into the wall.

“Those were fools, and their motivation was based in evil, Princess, explicit evil! They despised even themselves, but it is my fault for what they did! If not for me, Huntara would never have been as she was, and Shadow Weaver…”

It was an interesting thing. He did not feel for the lives he had taken. Yet, now, he could only feel sorrow at one of his more minor errors; no lives had been lost but her own, a woman few would mourn. Yet, he knew they would mourn. Perhaps even Shadow Weaver would be standing here before them if not for him.

“If I had not given you to Shadow Weaver instead of being a good man, she would not have died. Catra would not have been as she was, and Angella would not have died. All these things could change if I had not been evil.”

“We all made our own choices,” Adora said. “Yeah, there were external influences, but we all chose. You could say the same thing about yourself. What would have changed without Horde Prime?”

“I would not live, and you would not have endured the suffering Shadow Weaver put you through!”

“Hey,” Adora uttered, placing a comforting hand on Hordak’s shoulder. It felt… different from Entrapta’s touch, yet the warmth was similar. There was something in it, some affection that he could discern, that she had perhaps always held.

“Hey?” Hordak asked, turning to the mirror and seeing the faint beginning of tears in his eyes.

“Don’t go down that path again,” Adora said. “You’ve got a lot to live for, Hordak. We can’t look back and say what we would have changed. We can’t change it. We can change the future. We can make it better.”

“Yes,” Hordak said. “You are correct.”

She let go of him. It was equally refreshing. Unlike that of Entrapta, he desired little of Adora’s touch. Hordak took the makeup from the corner, and began to run the lipstick over his mouth.

“We will win this,” Hordak said. “We will make a better future. It is what I owe to Etheria. My death would serve no purpose.”

“Shadow Weaver won’t see this,” Adora said, looking down. “Catra was so close to never seeing it. I can’t help but feel for them. Every one of them.”

“Even Prime,” Hordak said. It was not a question.

“Yeah,” Adora admitted. “There was nothing left there.”

“So many lives lost, all because of what he began, yet we cannot help but feel for him.”

“We’re not that different,” Adora admitted.

“No,” Hordak said. “Both children of other worlds, bred to be weapons. Perhaps that was part of why I saved you, why I brought you back.”

“You saved me,” Adora said. “I didn’t remember it.”

“I never forgot you.”

Hordak looked at Adora’s reflection as he re-applied his eyeshadow. He needed no focus to do it; it had been routine when he had led the Horde. He had once considered it paint of war, to associate him with the shadows of the Hell that Prime had spoken of, the darkness that they had feared.

“I never forgot you. Now, I only wish I could have taken you in myself. I was not suited to the task.”

“You would’ve been better than Shadow Weaver.”

“Ah, so I would have done the bare minimum. I would not have pitted Catra against you either. You were both useful assets.”

“I was always scared of you.”

Hordak chuckled. “The reality was that I should have been scared of you! I did not know I had welcomed She-Ra into my domain as a friend.”

“What would it have been like if I hadn’t turned? If I never became She-Ra?”

“We will never know,” Hordak said. “You spoke of the future. Let us make our way there, one second at a time.”

Adora smiled. “Yeah.”

They conversed, exchanging strategies. Hordak would bring up a strategy Netossa would send against them, and Adora would analyze a method of stopping it dead in its tracks. They both knew they were always a step behind. There were certain lines of reasoning which could not be defeated with anything but a plea for mercy, pleas which made the former conqueror grow to feel more as though he were pitied by the second.

They conversed, of course, about other things. Hordak wished Entrapta were there, but she had work to do. She had to secure his armor.

Indeed, the armor was more than secure. Two guards aided her in carrying it in, and he saw it return to him in different coloration; no more did it wear the crest of Horde Prime or the Horde. Instead, upon it was the crest of Dryl, although the wings remained. It was colored gray, drawing out the beautiful interlacing weaves of Dryl’s crest. They glowed.

Entrapta smiled when she saw Hordak, and it enchanted the entire room. Two guards wheeled in a rectangular piece of metal, with the imprint of Hordak’s silhouette within. Adora nodded and left as Hordak turned to it. His vision blurred, and he coughed again. He made his way into the imprint, and the recolored armor approached him.

There was pain. It was momentary. There was heat. It was similar in nature. Momentary.

Then there was power.

Hordak rarely desired power, yet this was beyond his imagination. The armor was wrapped around him, Entrapta’s finest work growing only finer. Hordak spread his arms as the guards left the room, and took a crisp, comforting breath. He laughed, and as one of the guards left, they poked the shoulder of the other guard.

“It is _invigorating_!” Hordak exclaimed.

Entrapta approached him, and Hordak looked at himself in the mirror. Quickly, he took a small cloth from the makeup kit, and erased the shadows from his face. No more would he be determined by that foul time he had spent with the Horde. No, this was a new day.

Entrapta offered Hordak something else. It seemed she had predicted his desires. Eyeshadow in the colors of Dryl, the very same colors as Entrapta’s beautiful hair. The former general decorated himself in it, and for once, he saw the very same beauty in himself that Entrapta did in him.

“You’re gonna go free,” Entrapta said. “And then we’re gonna get very well acquainted.”

“Yes,” Hordak said as the guards completed their exit. “We will repair my condition!”

“More than that,” Entrapta said with wide eyes. “We won’t only make up for what we did. We’ll improve every life on Etheria. And, it needs a beta run, but, uh…”

Entrapta took the lipstick, and inexplicably applied it to her lips. Hordak wondered why. They were already beautiful as anything in the world.

Then she adorned his cheek with a kiss.

“Then I think we can get married. Does that sound good?”

Hordak had a moment of silence. Marriage. An Etherian ritual of commitment. He could think of none better to spend his life with.

“It does,” he said. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Then we’ll make it work,” she said, pecking his cheek again. “ _Prince_ Hordak.”

It was not the same as _Lord_ Hordak. That was a title of fear. This was one of true love.

It was by far a greater sensation.

The title of Prince was an honorable one. Hordak hoped he could live up to it. As he looked into Entrapta’s resplendent eyes, he could feel every bit of her faith in him. Without a word, he picked her up and hoisted her up, placing her on his shoulder. She laughed, and drummed her fingers on his shoulder. Every part of him felt strong, motivated, his stamina doubled and his strength increased tenfold.

As a Prince, he would have ten times the resources at his disposal to make up for what he had done. He could rebuild homes with merely a word, decipher First Ones technology, he could aid the people of Etheria like never before. He could atone for every last sin he had committed and more. He would bring peace and security to Etheria.

Ah, he got ahead of himself. There was simply excitement. It was a strange thing, excitement. He so rarely felt it, the exhilaration and intensity. He had not felt this sort of excitement since he had first conversed with his lab partner.

“You’re really strong,” Entrapta said.

“I was bred to be,” Hordak responded.

“No, not just like that. You’re strong in here.”

She drummed her fingers on his head. He felt a bit of mirth at that.

“You’re not just smart,” she said. “You fought for fifty years for a cause you were subconsciously against. Let’s see what you can do when you really believe in something.”

Hordak grinned. Indeed, that would be quite the thing. Gently, most gently, he lowered Entrapta to the floor. She cupped his face, and the strength was necessary no longer. Hordak knew that she would love him even when he was weak.

Contentment. True contentment; this was no delusion of being joyous. This was surely what it felt like to be _happy_.

Happiness was a strong sensation, but it was one easily dashed by the sight of a figure clad in white. Hordak immediately set Entrapta down, and moved his body in front of hers. The figure wore the blank white mask still, and his robe as well. Hordak snarled, his nostrils flaring.

“Get back,” he told Entrapta.

Entrapta, however, was not inclined to do so. She pushed past him, briefly in front. Then, she took to a position beside him.

“Fine,” Hordak said, staring at the figure.

The figure raised his hands; they were certainly a clone. They looked almost completely identical to Hordak himself. The Princess and the monster stood side by side, ready to do battle in the event that a blade would slip from the sleeve of the cloak.

Instead, the figure slowly reached toward his mask. He removed it. Hordak recognized a scar across his face, a scar he had no doubt inflicted. This was the leader of the cult, no doubt. Hordak grew less cautious, more remorseful. The clone approached slowly and cautiously. The conqueror let his guard down.

“I can try and have your scar healed if that is what you desire,” Hordak said.

“No,” said his brother. “This scar is something that defines me, brother. I would not lose it; its origin is sordid, but it reinvented who I am. You told me to speak to the rehabilitation program, and I did so. I have taken the name Scar, my brother.”

“I am sorry I hurt you.”

“Do not feel bad, brother! In fact, it is I who should apologize. I invaded your room, I led a group in stalking you and harming your mental state. From rumor amongst the brothers, I nearly caused your end. It was never my intent.”

“We both have many things which deserve regret,” Hordak said. Entrapta gently tapped his shoulder. “Me more so than you.”

“I understand,” said Scar. He approached. He reached out toward Hordak, and then his eyes widened. He reeled back slightly.

“It’s alright,” Hordak said.

Scar nodded momentarily, and then he took Hordak’s hand. He smiled. Entrapta wrapped her arms and hair around the former villain.

“You saved me, brother. You saved me and all my fellows. We would have gone down your path if not for how you directed us to the rehabilitation program. I am eternally grateful. You will forever be remembered in the history of our culture as our savior.”

It was not a role he deserved. It was what they ascribed to him nonetheless. A simple change of perspective could have such substantial effect.

To one society, Hordak was a monster, a killer. To another, he was a hero. He wondered how many had considered Prime a hero, their savior, until he had taken their free will and wiped them out on a petty whim. He would take care never to repeat that, or anything of the sort.

“Do not hail only me,” Hordak said. “Hail to yourselves as well. Every one of you brought forth the willpower to break Prime’s steel grasp. You are heroes yourselves, brothers, and I would not see you worship me as though I am in any way superior.”

“Thank you,” the clone said, clutching his hand tightly, squeezing. “You are so kind and charitable!”

“I think you shall find that by the standards of Etheria, I am neither, brother. Still, go on and live your life. I assume they have found you a place?”

“Yes! An excellent home. They are building colonies for us. We can come and go as we please, of course.”

“I am glad,” Hordak said warmly. “I am so proud of every one of you. It takes a powerful will to free yourself as you did.”

“We would not have done it without you.”

Entrapta held Hordak tighter. Hordak released the hand of the clone, and turned back to his beloved. She could not join him in the courtroom; he knew such things. He would have to go without her. Thankfully, that time had not yet come. He moved back to the futon as Scar left, the light piercing through the door. He pressed his hands to the futon with intent to sit, only to break off the entire headboard. Entrapta giggled behind him.

It was comforting that the only thing he killed nowadays was furniture.

He sighed, and took a seat, only to fall over. His eyes went wide. It seemed he was not immune to the force of gravity either.

Entrapta rushed to his side, and helped him to his feet. There was no difficulty in it despite the armor he wore. All it did was enhance his power and confidence. He pressed a hand to Entrapta’s cheek.

“I will always love you,” Hordak said. “Every moment of every day. There will be times it will be hard. I will not pretend we are perfect, but there will never be a moment I will not love you, Entrapta. You were the one who taught me what love was. You taught me I was not a failure, that I needed to take pride even in myself. You taught me that I could be better, and that I was more than simply the tool of Prime. You were my first friend, the one who was my friend even as I drove every friend away. I’m sorry, there isn’t a point.”

Entrapta shook her head.

“Keep going,” she said.

She was beautiful, even with her eyes red from tears. They both knew this journey would come to an end soon. Whether it ended as they said it would, in love and in redemption, they knew not. They knew only that the end would be a slow, tense process.

“I didn’t understand,” Hordak said. Tears welled up in her eyes, and then in his.

“I know,” she said.

“I didn’t get a bit of it. I didn’t understand that I could receive love for anything but being vile and cruel, and I didn’t believe I deserved it. You were everything. You _are_ everything. I craved every night to see the stars once more until I found you. You are ten times more beautiful than any star.”

Entrapta wiped her eyes. “When did you become so eloquent?” she asked, her voice breaking. “It feels like you just yelled ‘get out’ only a few months ago, and now you’re a poet.”

“Are you offended?” Hordak asked.

“Not one bit,” she said. “You’ve got such a pretty voice, and you’re so good with words when you need to be.”

“You helped me make a life,” Hordak said, feeling tears streaming down his face. “You helped me become something beyond a weapon. I owe it all to you.”

He began to sob. He kneeled. Entrapta caressed him with her hands and hair alike. She protected him, she loved him. She had freed him from a life of dehumanization and self-hatred. There was no way to repay her, nor to atone for his crimes. There was only tomorrow.

Would he even remember tomorrow if he were to fail? There was no “tomorrow” in the cold void of space. There was only the stars, stars he knew would never be equal to the one he loved, stars which would taunt him until he lived no longer. Only when he breathed his final breath, which would likely be soon after he was sent into space, would they cease to mock his very being.

Returning to the galaxy at large had always been his goal. Now, it would be his punishment. How fitting.

Once, he had craved the solitude, or at least he pretended he had. Now, he hated it. He despised it most of all. He would be accompanied only by the hallucination of Prime. They could not know what they condemned him to, but he would not pretend he did not on some primal level hate them for it. To deny such things to even himself would be a foolish act.

Hordak was a fool no longer.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood. “Thank you for everything. I want you to know forever that I love you, even if I never see you again.”

“I believe in you,” Entrapta said, her appendages of hair wiping the tears from his eyes. Hordak smiled gently.

They could not do this forever, as much as they would like. All things faded. This, however, would not fade. This would be forever in their minds. They wrapped their hands together. They held tight. They did not let go.

They were pulled apart when Adora returned. The guards pulled Entrapta away from Hordak gently, afraid to hurt her. Hordak knew that if Entrapta were not a kind soul, the only one who should live in fear would be them. Still, they both stayed their hands, even as Hordak exited to the hallway. He looked to her one last time as Adora opened the door.

“I love you,” he said.

Entrapta smiled.

“Come home to me.”

Hordak silently vowed to do so.

Unfortunately, his mood darkened the moment they were in the hallway. Adora, dressed still in her snappy suit, continued to move. He kept up with her. The guards looked at him in awe and fear, each in equal measure. The armor, he assumed, was what threw them off. It had been a symbol of war.

They saw her outside the courtroom first. Netossa. She had not even changed outfits for the trial. She looked confident, her stance firm. She stood tall. Hordak was intimidated. Adora was an entirely different story.

“Netossa,” she said.

“Princess Adora,” Netossa responded, bowing.

“You don’t have to do this,” Adora said.

“Believe me, I’d like a lighter sentence, but my people said otherwise. I’ve gotta deal with PR. You’d get it.”

“So PR is worth condemning Hordak?”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. Okay, maybe I like it a little bit. It’s a huge trial, Adora. It is the first trial in so long. This will reform the entire justice system.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “You’d end up sacrificing Angella’s vision just to get some punishment.”

“Justice is blind, Adora. It doesn’t call for mercy.”

“It doesn’t bay for blood either! What will hurting Hordak do?”

“This has to be based around logic and factual information, Adora, not sentiment. It wasn’t sentiment that won us the war.”

“Um,” Hordak said, raising his hand awkwardly. “I believe it actually _was_.”

Netossa looked at Hordak.

“He’s got a point,” she admitted. “Not everything can be solved with bold declarations of love, though. Sometimes we’ve gotta take the kid gloves off.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “This isn’t just taking the kid gloves off, though. This is taking someone who’s suffered all his life and making him suffer more just to appease people who don’t understand the situation.”

“That’s what the law is about. Making sure it’ll never happen again. Can you guarantee that it won’t?”

“The defendant tried to end his own life yesterday.”

Netossa had a momentary expression of shock. She placed a hand to her chin. There was a moment of deliberation, and then her brow furrowed.

“That’s unfortunate. You have my sympathy, Hordak, you really do. I still can’t pass this up, though. We need a strong system, even if that system has to be cold sometimes. Sometimes, we gotta hurt someone to fix the problem.”

“Funny,” Hordak said. “I heard something similar from someone completely unlike you.”

Adora turned to Hordak, and nodded. They both knew who he referred to. It was a petty comparison, truly childish in nature. It was only momentary catharsis, nothing of any meaning.

“I really don’t mean anything by it. It’s nothing personal.”

“No,” Adora said. “That’s the problem, Netossa. It’s nothing personal.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“ _Everything_ is personal, Netossa. You can’t quantify something like this into numbers and logic, into pragmatism and purpose. This isn’t a game. We are fighting for a man’s _life_ here. Might I remind you, he is a man who saved Etheria.”

“For personal reasons. Anyone would turn on Prime.”

“Save the argument for the courtroom, Netossa. You’re my friend. I like you, I really do.”

“You’re living in a dream world if you think you’ll win,” Netossa said.

“Yeah?” Adora said. “Well, if the real world is so nasty that it’d rather see Hordak exiled than redeemed, I’d much rather live in a dream world.”

Netossa was irked only slightly by this. She was unflappable, that woman; endlessly brilliant and analytical. She outstripped even Hordak when it came to tactics.

Hordak had seen things so differently at the start of the war. Netossa had been quite young herself then, although she was hardly old now. He would have rather faced her in a game of chess than in a battle for Etheria’s very heart, but he supposed this would have to do. He stood strong. The world stood still for a moment.

That moment passed.

“Go in,” Hordak said. “I have someone to talk to.”

Adora raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Go in,” he repeated. The guards entered the courtroom. Hordak turned. He looked at his reflection on the polished wall. He saw only himself. After everything, he remained.

“This is it,” he said. “Almost humorous in its tragedy, how a man can get everything back, yet his evil will always come back to catch him. I defied the will of Prime. Yet, any who fight the will of fate as I seem to do today faces a force which is immovable by the hands of anyone. Prime always tried to turn back the ticking clock of justice. He felt that more blood could wash away that which had already spilled on his hands.”

Hordak looked at his own hands. They would forever have taken the lives of innocents. Hordak understood the rage of those who demanded justice. He had done ten times worse when he had discovered Catra’s villainy.

“There will never be a time,” he said to himself. “There will never be a day where the blood of an innocent can be washed away with more blood, nor with any water. There is simply no way to do it. The only way to wipe blood from your hands is to live another day. There can be no turning back the hands of justice. We must learn from our errors, every last one among us.”

It was odd. He did not typically talk to himself. Yet, somehow, he felt as though he needed to. Every word spoken with his voice was another which reminded him that he was free. Free to choose, free to fight, and free to surrender the fight when the time came.

“Freedom is no longer a dream. It is in my grasp. All I must do is reach out toward it, and take it. I have never known it before her, and now I could lose her once more. No. I made a vow.”

It was almost childish, in a way; a mere teenager talking to himself in a mirror. Only, Hordak had never been a child. He had been a soldier, and then he had been a warlord. Then he had been a soldier again, then a prisoner. Now, he was on the cusp of becoming a Prince. Perhaps they would think this was improbable, overdramatic; Etherians, if he recalled, called such indulgences soliloquies, and they were reserved for the stage of theater.

Theater. Another of the many things he had taken from Etheria. Joy, theater, life, all of them had been robbed of them.

Perhaps he would rebuild theaters as well. He assumed many of the clones would deeply enjoy it. His self-affirmation was nearly complete, when he heard another voice, more smooth than his. He knew it; his back stiffened. His fists clenched.

“You will lose,” said Horde Prime.

“Maybe I will,” Hordak said. “Maybe tomorrow shall be my final tomorrow, but I will not allow it to break me. I cannot determine what the jury will decide, only what I will. Today, I have decided that I am like you.”

“So you admit it?”

“I am like you, but I am more than you will ever be. I have learned love, true love. I have learned what beauty is. I have learned mercy. I have learned that I have no need of you.”

“Yet I remain.”

“Only so that I may say goodbye.”

Prime was behind him. Hordak turned to him. This was the monster, the one who stood tall above him and who had committed so many sins against him and his brethren. Horde Prime had been among the most evil men in the galaxy, the universe even. Yet, there was no malice as Hordak looked at him; malice was what Prime would have craved, if only for the desperate desire to feel as though he could affect another.

“I wish you were the real Prime,” Hordak said. “Then he too would know that the only feeling I can muster for you is pity.”

Prime’s four eyes widened. He bellowed and roared, impotently, swiping at Hordak’s face with intangible claws and raging incoherently. He foamed at the mouth. Hordak simply turned away. Into green mist, the hallucination faded. “Goodbye,” Hordak said. “I hope even you find mercy and peace, wherever you have gone, brother.”

The horror had passed. Horde Prime was gone. Now, there was only the trial.

Hordak, with a single hand, opened the doors. The light nearly blinded him as he entered the courtroom. He heard whispers and jeers, yet he ignored them. He moved to the desk, shaking slightly. He could not stifle all fear.

Netossa stood at the prosecution desk, which was stacked with law books. Had Netossa in fact studied the entirety of Etherian law overnight? Hordak would not put such a thing past her.

Adora, however, was conversing with the jury. Well, in truth, they were yelling over her. All of them, in fact, except the juror in the red cloak, their face still concealed. Hordak had his assumptions about who they were, but it was best he keep silent. They would not have come in disguise if they had wished their identity discovered.

Adora stumbled back. Bow was working with a data pad, working hard to collect information and to jot down every record of note. This was, after all, the single trial that would set the rules for all to come. Queen Glimmer’s hands were clasped over her mouth. She slouched ever so slightly, bags clearly under her eyes. Hordak hoped that his attempted suicide had not caused her too much stress.

Adora placed a hand on the desk. Hordak rested his on his knee, placing his fist on the bottom of his jaw. He licked his lips.

Things may as well have been silence for all the shouting. It was unfortunate that Sea Hawk could not oppose them, but Hordak supposed that, even as she shot him a death glare, Netossa would be the right foe. It was almost poetic; the most compassionate woman in Etheria against the most competitive and coldly logical. If Hordak were to be grandiloquent about it, he would define it as a battle between the two ideals. This was not merely a battle for his own fate, it was a battle over what justice _was_.

Mermista had never sought justice. She had sought to assuage her own fears. Hordak was glad she had done so. She seemed a kind soul behind that facade, not unlike himself.

He shook and shivered. The jeers and hisses ceased. Glimmer raised a hand. That was all the jury needed.

“We will have order,” she said.

Netossa cracked her neck. Adora did the same, in an attempt to mimic her, only to crack it a bit too hard. She ended up saying “ow” several times and rubbing it. Hordak could practically feel her pain as though it were his own.

A storm brewed outside. It scared Hordak. That was alright.

“Alright, let’s be clear,” Glimmer said. “This is a trial of dueling testimonies. There will be no witnesses. There will be no chatter among the jury unless I specifically say it is alright. We will not deal with falsehoods or rumors. This is not a play. This is a trial.”

“Agreed,” Netossa said. “Let’s play fair.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “Let’s play _fair_.”

“Lastly,” Glimmer said. “You will notice our new prosecution. As you may know, the previous prosecution abandoned her role after feeling it didn’t match her goal anymore. Getting a new prosecutor was easy, but then that prosecution was Sea Hawk. It didn’t go well. It took a migraine and a lot of politics, but we managed to get our hands on Netossa. She is taking valuable time to be here. Every word between Adora and Netossa will be said with the respect due.”

Adora sneered slightly. Hordak could not help but do the same. There was undeniable, irrefutable vitriol. They would need to keep their cool.

“We’re going to have a clean trial,” Netossa said. “Unlike how Mermista handled things.”

Hordak snarled quietly. The red-cloaked juror scooted a seat back.

“Why is the defendant wearing his armor?” Netossa asked. “We haven’t started yet, I just want to know. I’m guessing it has something to do with his condition. A battle suit repurposed to serve as support for his medical condition?”

“Yes,” Adora said.

“Good,” Netossa said. “I didn’t think it was in case he needed a quick getaway, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Alright,” Glimmer said. “This will be the last day of the trial. The jury will make their decision, and that decision will shape history. Don’t get overly emotional. We want to make sure that whatever precedent we set, we’ll see more fair trials after this one.”

“May we begin?” asked Netossa.

“Yes,” Glimmer said. “I’ll let you start, since you just showed up.”

“Hello!” Netossa said, waving to the audience. “As much as I’m not keen to be separated from my kingdom, I think my lovely wife is doing a good job in my stead.”

This was an intriguing little game. A tactic, perhaps, to sway the jurors? No. It seemed Netossa simply was expressing common courtesy. Compared to Mermista’s testimonies, that was rather refreshing.

“Now, let’s get down to business. We’re dealing with someone of unexpected and horrifying circumstances. Hordak is perhaps the worst war criminal Etheria has ever seen.”

“Objection!” Adora said.

“Overruled,” Glimmer said. “Hordak was head of the Horde.”

Adora nodded, even though she clenched her fists until her knuckles went white. She conceded this. Hordak could only hope their every argument would not be so easily dispelled.

“So,” Netossa said. “I have to ask, is this what we want with everyone who commits crimes like his? Do we want everyone who comes through here, every murderer and killer, do we want them to be okay with it because they know they’ll get a slap on the wrist? Or do we want them to be afraid to do it? Do we want them to feel like they can do anything they want because Etheria will spare no expense and time in helping them avoid charges?”

Hordak could not deny she made an excellent point. Fear was an excellent deterrent, but it was also an excellent motivator. Without fear, the Horde could never have come to pass. It would be convenient in the short run, he supposed.

“Alright,” Adora said. “My turn?”

“Go ahead,” Netossa said.

“Good. Because, and I must note, all respect due, you are out of your mind.”

“No ad hominem attacks,” Glimmer and Bow said at the same time.

“Fine,” Adora said. “Then let me put it this way. Netossa is proposing we ignore the extreme extenuating circumstances surrounding Hordak. She is saying that we should just sentence people to scary sentences to make an example of them. You know who else gave people harsh sentences to make an example of them?”

Adora pointed to Hordak.

“Yeah,” she said as the jury gasped. “But when _he_ did it, we considered it a _crime_.”

Netossa shifted her feet, and twitched momentarily. Then, she regained her cool instantly. She shrugged.

“My turn?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Adora said.

“First off, that’s a disingenuous comparison. Hordak punished people because they were treacherous. We are punishing Hordak for years of crimes he committed against the Etherian people. This isn’t even close to the same.”

She had them cornered in that case.

“So, what Adora is saying is that because Hordak had a hard life, it justifies the lives he’s taken. That doesn’t mean anything in the end. We all know that Etheria is a merciful planet, but he led the conquest. The fact we’re holding a trial at all proves we’re better than the Horde.”

Again, Hordak saw Adora back away awkwardly. They could not have expected this. Adora’s face went red as a rose.

“So, what we have so far is a murderer who suffered. You know who else suffered? Everyone. Everyone in Etheria suffered, but we wouldn’t pardon them for murder.”

Adora nodded. “We did, though. Catra killed Queen Angella, and we pardoned her.”

“ _You_ pardoned her,” Netossa said. “You used your position to spare your girlfriend from punishment. I would have done the same with my wife, but you’re not flawless just because you’re She-Ra.”

Adora placed her hands against the desk. Hordak’s eyes flickered. The jury buzzed silently with excitement. They hung on to every word Netossa delivered.

“Alright,” Adora said, cracking her neck. Again, she ended up murmuring and rubbing her neck. The young woman was utterly incorrigible when it came to that particular action.

Hordak began to drum his fingers on the table. It was what Entrapta seemed to do for stimulation. He did the same, and it calmed him, strangely enough.

“Alright?” Netossa asked. “You have no defense.”

“No defense?” Adora asked. Her eyes flickered in a way which made it clear she did, in fact, have no defense.

Hordak looked to a nearby wall. There was a clock. It seemed about a minute had passed, and it similarly seemed as though they had already lost. Five minutes had been a hopeful estimate.

“Yeah, I have a defense,” Adora said. “People of the jury, you saw Wrong Hordak. He told you exactly what Hordak’s life was like. That sort of thing could drive anyone to murder.”

“And that makes murder okay?” Netossa asked.

“No!” Adora exclaimed. “But we forgave Catra.”

“Maybe that was a mistake too,” Netossa said.

Adora growled. She bared her teeth like Hordak did when intimidation was his desired result. She looked back to him, visibly sweating and anxious. He shook his head. This was not the time to be acting like him.

“So what? You propose we try every Horde soldier?”

“Oh, no, not all of them. Just the two in charge. Hordak and Catra. The rest were just brainwashed.”

“And Hordak wasn’t?”

“Hordak evidently wasn’t so brainwashed that he couldn’t lead an entire military operation, and his stunt last night proves that he has plenty of agency.”

Adora slammed the table. “Objection!” she exclaimed with utter, frothing fury. “You don’t get to take the defendant trying to kill himself and twist it on him!”

“What proof do we have that Hordak tried to kill himself? Just your word and his.”

“And Entrapta’s.”

“Who has _every_ reason to _lie_.”

“What about Mermista?”

“She’s not talking about it, as is her right.”

Adora began to hyperventilate. Hordak wished he could help. He drummed his fingers more quickly.

“Your Honor, Queen Glimmer, the idea that Hordak wasn’t trying to kill himself is hearsay,” Adora said.

“Yeah, so is the idea that he _was_.”

Glimmer sighed. She muttered a few curses under her breath. She rubbed her hair.

“Neither of these arguments are permissible in court.”

Adora slammed her fist on the desk hard enough to leave a crack. Just as Hordak had forgotten his own strength, she had forgotten for a moment that she had the power of She-Ra. Hordak sighed.

“In a perfect world, we’d never have to worry about another person like Hordak. Unfortunately, we’re not living in a perfect world. There will be more murderers. There will be more butchers of innocents.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “But we can stop them. If we teach mercy, we can stop almost every single one of them.”

“What about the ones who won’t stop at mercy? You yourself killed Horde Prime. Your refusal to kill Catra cost Queen Angella her life. How many have to die just to fulfill delusions of mercy?”

The figure in the red cloak shuffled further back awkwardly. The rest of the jury, however, was entirely on the side of Netossa. Hordak supposed he would probably be, as well, if he were not the one being tried.

“We have to punish them.”

“You know what the most fear-filled place in Etheria was?” Adora asked. “The Fright Zone. The Horde used public punishments, it exiled people. All it ever did was--”

“Adora, you can’t keep saying ‘we’re just like the Horde’ when the motivation is clearly different.”

“Who cares about the motivation?” Adora said. “I was _in_ the Horde, so I’m gonna school you in something here. You’re smart, Netossa, but you don’t get it. The Horde attracted so many killers because everyone was afraid, and everyone hated Princesses.”

“Because of Hordak!”

“Because of _fear and hatred_ ,” Adora said succinctly. The jury seemed to agree, judging by the facial expressions of one Sea Elf in the bottom row, whose eyes gleamed a bit.

“Who caused that fear and hatred?”

Their advantage was quickly lost. “Hordak,” Adora admitted sheepishly.

“Exactly. He was the reason for all this. I know Horde Prime made him what he was, but what he was, it was still dangerous.”

“Hordak isn’t just going to be let loose. He’s going to be helping rebuild. He has scientific knowledge, extensive scientific knowledge, that can help the planet. He can make it more than it was before, better.”

“With technology and information we could get from Prime’s archives or any other clone.”

“Not every clone has his mind,” Adora said.

“We have plenty of geniuses here on Etheria.”

“Not like him. Not like Hordak.”

“No offense, Adora, and again, all due respect, Hordak faces issues of creative sterility. Once Catra and Entrapta took power, everything the Horde did maximized in efficiency. I’m even gonna guess that armor was Entrapta’s design.”

Incredible. Netossa had no inside knowledge. Every bit of that, she had discovered purely through logical thinking and analysis. Hordak would be impressed if he weren’t currently experiencing a bout of terror.

His teeth were chattering. Not even when he had come so close to death had his teeth chattered. Death had not scared him as much as this did.

His hands were shaking. His drumming was growing extreme in intensity, to the point where the jury was beginning to notice. The red-cloaked figure shuffled back down after getting a nasty look from a juror in a brown vest.

“Am I wrong?” Netossa asked.

“No,” Adora said quietly.

“You can’t win, Adora. You can’t win. You can’t beat me, and you can’t beat me because I’m correct.”

“Yeah,” Adora said.

“So you concede? Hordak is guilty and sentenced to exile?”

“You’re factually correct, Netossa. You really are, but you don’t get it.”

“What? I don’t get suffering? I haven’t dealt with the Horde? I’ve dealt with them longer than you did.”

“You’re _right_!” Adora said. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make you right.”

Netossa blinked a few times.

“Excuse me?”

“You can lay on every fact in the world. You can throw every bit of logic and reasoning in there. You are right about it all. Hordak? He does have some issues with imagination, but _technically_ , he’s incredible, and the only person with more willpower than him is me. He was _dying_ , Netossa, and he ran a military force even as he was dying. He’s unbreakable.”

That was a lie. Hordak was far from unbreakable. He pretended to be, but deep down, he was easily broken. It was like snapping a twig in simplicity. Even now, even as he had cast his concerns aside, a threat would be all that was necessary.

“He broke pretty easy when Prime came.”

“No. Hordak _bent_. But he never broke. He still mustered the willpower to kill a man he saw as a deity for the woman he loved. He saved Etheria.”

“Yes,” Netossa said. “Hordak did save Etheria. We would have died without him. You know who else we would have died without? Shadow Weaver.”

“Not the same.”

“How? Because one of them didn’t personally hurt you? I know a lot of people he did hurt. A lot.”

“Hordak ruined my life, by all accounts. He put me under the care of Shadow Weaver. He let my world fall apart before my eyes. He lied to me.”

“So why do you not get it?”

“Oh, I get it. It’s not a lack of understanding, Netossa. I understand perfectly. It’s a refusal to agree. What you’re saying is surrender.”

“How is exile surrender?”

“It’s surrendering to fear. It’s saying you’re scared of Hordak.”

“I beat Hordak. I’m not scared of him.”

“Sure you’re not,” Adora said. “Not in a fight, at least.”

It had indeed been a humiliating fight.

“Exiling is to say that you can’t handle it anymore. It’s removing him because people are scared of him. It’s compromising what we stand for.”

“We have to make compromises! This isn’t a perfect world.”

“No, it’s not. You know why it’s not? Because we won’t let it be. The reason this isn’t a perfect world is because there’s people who say it’s not a perfect world. People who don’t want it to be, because their worldview says it’s not.”

Netossa actually looked put off. She shifted her feet. She cracked her knuckles. Hordak took a moment to examine Glimmer, who was currently scowling on the throne. The archer continued to jot down data flawlessly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Adora, you lost. Just give up. The jury will never agree with you. They’ll never see it your way.”

“They might not,” Adora said. “But you know what? We might’ve lost, but at least we lost while we stood for something. Hordak has everything. You want to take it from him because your people are afraid. I get it, I really do, but it’s not the way to do things.”

“Hordak is dangerous. He’s conditioned to be a warrior. That’s not to mention the potential threats he brings. It’s not Etheria’s fault he’s the way he is.”

“No. No, it’s not. So, threats, though. Enemies.”

“Yes,” Netossa said.

“So, he has enemies, who will try to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“So how is exile not the same as a death sentence?” Adora asked.

“Hordak killed.”

“So you’re saying it’s okay to let him die?”

“He wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“And he was the _bad guy_ ,” Adora said.

“This isn’t so simple. We can’t sort things into ‘good’ or ‘bad’ like we’re children, Adora. I know you mean well, but you need to give up.”

“I am She-Ra, Princess of Power, savior of Etheria. I didn’t earn a single one of those titles by giving up.”

“So you make it a matter of pride now. It’s clear you have a deep personal investment. That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Adora asked.

“Yes. Justice is blind. It does not stop for our biases. It does not cease its advance because we love. Sometimes, there are things we must do that we do not desire.”

Hordak looked down dejectedly.

“Yeah,” Adora said. “But--”

“This is necessary, Adora.”

Adora looked defeated. She stumbled back. The jury clapped. Glimmer silenced them with a motion. She would not give up, yet she could not win.

“I’m sorry,” Netossa said. Hordak knew it was genuine.

“Look at him,” Netossa said. “He’s a lost cause. He’s trying to be good, but he never can. He manhandled a guard according to my sources. He’s destroyed tons of property. He’s hurt people. He is followed around by a cabal of dangerous cultists in cloaks and masks. Soon, we will have enemies coming from space to kill him. Look at his armor. It’s battle armor, whether it’s adorned with the crest of Dryl or not. It’s the thing keeping him alive, but it’s inextricably linked to the civilian casualties that were incurred when he wore it. I believe he’s trying, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Etheria didn’t make this monster. We don’t have to deal with this.”

Hordak began to cry. Adora held firm. She did not cry, even though the temptation to do so was clear. He cried into his hands.

He had hardly ever cried before. Now seemed like an odd time to do so. In spite of that, they both knew the trial had been lost. They had defended valiantly, but Netossa would always outmatch them. There was no appeal they could make that the people would hear. Hordak had come so close, and now he was reminded of what he was. A worthless, abandoned little wretch of a thing. He was a monster.

He was a monster.

Entrapta had fallen in love with a monster. Sweet, kind Entrapta, so trusting and open that she had been willing even to fall in love with him. Hordak’s tears only grew more. So he was a monster that could cry.

Adora paced. Netossa continued to go on. Every word she said was correct. The jury were enraptured by her testimony, a testimony she had not even practiced. This was the perfect opposition. She had not just won the case. She had broken her opponents down. They were as though a defused weapon, unable to produce anything but smoke against a defensive line.

Hordak could feel freedom slip from his fingers. Or perhaps that was just the tears. It made little difference.

In the end, he could mask it. He could hide it. Netossa would never cease to have an accurate assessment of him. Even if he tried to change, it was too much trouble for Etheria. Why they would keep him around was inexplicable.

Adora was on the verge of shattering as well. She could only pace and say things lacking in quality, repeat her defenses. It seemed hope was lost, and the storm grew louder and louder, the voices and chants a mournful sound, one that mourned the passing of Hordak’s last chance.

Then came a pair of words. A pair of words from a familiar voice. A voice that changed the proceedings.

“ _Hey, Netossa_.”

Netossa’s eyes went wide. She had not predicted this. She shifted her feet as she rearranged the trial in her mind, but Glimmer silenced her. She had a smile.

The red-cloaked juror stood up. Hordak had known all along. This only confirmed it. They cast aside their disguise, and revealed, clad in Adora’s jacket, the familiar form of Catra. She ran a hand through her hair, and jumped down from the jury benches with great agility. She landed effortlessly.

“This is illegitimate,” Netossa said. “This is dueling testimonies, not--”

“It’s legal,” Glimmer said. “This stopped being dueling testimonies when you made the defense stutter and the defendant cry. If Catra, whose contributions have been desperately needed, wants to make a testimony, hers is as legitimate as yours.”

Hordak wiped the tears from his eyes. He sniffled. He saw Catra adjust the sleeves of the jacket, before tearing them with her claws. Adora had an indignant expression, although not nearly as indignant as that of Netossa’s.

The jury cried out that Catra was a murderer. One even spat upon her face. Despite a sour expression, she simply wiped it away. She stayed calm. It seemed she had matured somewhat since she had last encountered Hordak.

“You killed Queen Angella!” yelled a juror.

“Yes,” Catra said. “And it haunts me every day. It haunts me every day of my life. I am a murderer, but I was pardoned. Not just by Adora. It was a unanimous decision among a council of the Princess Alliance. Every last one of them, even Netossa, argued to spare me.”

Netossa backed away. A minor slip-up to be sure. Nonetheless, it disadvantaged her greatly.

“I will be haunted every day knowing I killed people. Not just Angella. Tung Lashor. Four civilians. A Horde clone. That’s not to mention responsibility for everything the Horde did while I was in power. I’m responsible.”

“So why aren’t you in jail yet?” demanded a juror.

“Because they knew I had changed. I had changed as a person. There was nothing that could be achieved by locking me up or exiling me, even when I wanted it. I _begged_ them to cast me aside to another inhabited planet, to leave me there as recompense. I am in a prison, good people of the jury. I am in the prison of knowing I took lives.”

Catra gulped.

“I took lives. I’m not gonna just go free and live happy. I am going to spend the rest of my life making up for it, and in the end, it might never be enough. There is never something you can do that will completely compensate for a lost spouse, or a lost sibling. I was not a good person. Sometimes I’m not entirely confident I’ll ever become one. Still, it doesn’t mean I just headed off to another planet. It doesn’t mean I sentenced myself to death. I didn’t give up.”

“We’re not giving up!” yelled the juror in the brown tunic.

“You don’t even know what giving up looks like!” said Catra. Adora began to rest her back against the desk. Hordak took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

Silence. Catra paced. She placed her hands behind her back.

“Do we want this?” she finally asked.

The answer was a resounding yes.

“Fine,” she said. “If that’s what you want. So, let me say my piece and you can sentence Hordak to exile, let him die, take everything from him. But I’m gonna say my piece and not a one of you is going to stop me.”

It seemed Catra’s stubbornness was working in the favor of Hordak this time. It could be a great asset and weakness alike. Hordak clasped his hands, and Glimmer seemed to be nearly asleep.

“So,” Catra said. “When I was a little girl, I fell in love with Adora. I didn’t know it was love yet. I didn’t really know what love was, but it was love. All I knew was that I really wanted to stay with her. I didn’t want her to leave, but I was scared of Shadow Weaver. One day, a Force Captain intimidated me, so I attacked her. She was bigger and stronger, but I beat her. For the rest of the week, I was afraid. I needed Adora. Then, Adora left. So I attacked her. I tormented her. I tried to convince myself, and Adora, that it was all Adora’s fault. I wanted to make her feel bad. I didn’t just want to fight her, I wanted to _hurt_ her. I wanted to see her break over my knee until she came back. I had tasted blood and I wanted more.”

The jury fell entirely silent, the few whispers fading.

“So, I hurt her, and I hurt my friends. I hurt everyone because I thought it’d satisfy me. I placed my problems on them, particularly Adora, and I enjoyed hurting them for a couple seconds. That’s all it was. It gave me a hit, a rush of power, and then it was done. Then I was back to being helpless little Catra. It would have been so much easier to just say yes, to go with her, but I wouldn’t, because I didn’t want to be happy. I _wanted_ to hurt her, and I _liked_ it. It was horrible. I knew it was wrong, but it made me feel so good for just a little while.”

Adora reached out a hand. Catra shook her head. If Adora intervened, it would end swiftly.

“I was a bad person, but I changed. I stopped taking the way out that gave me that hit of power. I learned something too, surprising as that is. I realized that I was scared, but instead of admitting I was scared, I did everything to hide it, even from myself. To feel like I wasn’t scared anymore, I tore apart everything I loved and everyone I cared about. I _killed_ people because I was _scared_. Right now, you’ll say that it was what you had to do, but I’ve gotta ask. When you look back on this, will you be happy? Or will you wonder about Hordak? What will you do when news of his death reaches you?”

The jury murmured. They were morbid murmurs to be sure. Hordak himself was admittedly enraptured by this display. Catra’s eyes were filling with tears. She was flailing wildly, yet the passion was clear.

“You’re all like I was. You’re scared of evil. Evil isn’t Hordak. Evil is a force, it’ll always be there. You can try to push back at it, but evil has been there since Horde Prime, and it was there at whatever made Prime into Prime. You want to answer evil with more evil, because it’ll give you that sweet, sweet rush of power, but it won’t help. All it’ll do is mean Etheria punishes evil with more evil every time. Hordak is another victim. We’re not gonna kill evil by killing him! There is no killing evil, and that scares us. Since that scares us, we’ve decided we’ll kill someone. You want a man to place the nightmares on, and you think they’ll go away when we kill him.”

Even Netossa seemed to be examining this with some level of respect. It was surprising for Catra. Her oratory ability had never been exceptional, paling in comparison to her skill with clever manipulation and combat.

“Do you really want this?” Catra asked. “Do you want to exile him, to take something away from him? If that’s what you really want, I can’t stop you, but I can tell you how I feel. If we honestly vote that Hordak, someone who’s just as much a victim as you or I, should be exiled and die alone, then Etheria didn’t deserve saving.”

“Anything else?” Netossa asked.

Catra turned to her. She unfurled her fingers, revealing her claws. Adora nearly leapt out of her skin, about to sprint toward Catra to stop a homicide, but the young woman instead extended a hand.

“You’re good at this,” Catra said. “You’ve got a knack for facts and weaknesses. You remind me of me.”

“That’s not a compliment,” Netossa said as she approached, and then shook Catra’s hand.

“I know it isn’t,” Catra said. “I know it isn’t.”

Netossa was clearly shaken. Her eyes were somewhat wide. She was constantly shifting her footing, altering her location. At last, Glimmer, who had clearly been quite stirred by the whole affair, as was made evident by the fact Bow had to wake her up, declared things adjourned. The guards brought the prosecution, and the defense team of the two young lovers, into the hallway.

Netossa approached Adora. She extended a hand. Adora shook it.

“You deserve to win,” Netossa said. “I don’t know that you will, but you? You and Catra? You were the good guys here.”

“It’s nice to be the good guy for once,” Catra said.

“I’m sorry,” Netossa said.

“Come now,” responded Hordak, noticing that his hands were stained with makeup. “We all have things to be sorry for. Mine are--”

“Yeah, we get it,” Adora said.

Catra laughed quietly.

“I knew it was you,” Hordak said. “You may have saved my life.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Netossa admitted. “They seemed moved, but moved doesn’t always win a trial, even if it should.”

“You were excellent prosecution, Netossa.”

“I’d think I would be. Mermista was a good kid. I hope things are going well.”

“About that,” Catra said dryly. “So, this guy filed this complaint, and, uh, her boyfriend’s in jail.”

“Long story,” Netossa agreed.

Hordak took a seat on a nearby marble bench. He covered his mouth with his hands. What if it were not enough? What if after getting his hopes up once more, they would be struck down again? Why would fate’s omnipotent hand be so vicious and cruel?

Fate had nothing to do with it. There was no justice but that which they made for themselves, no cruelty but the cruelty of people. Hordak knew that quite well.

Adora sat next to him.

“This may be our last conversation ever,” Hordak said.

“I know,” Adora said sadly. “Anything you wanna get out of the way?”

“Adora, when I said that I simply would not be fit as a parental unit… I spoke the truth, but you asked about whether I would…”

“Yeah?” she asked. Catra looked over her shoulder, beaming.

“I would have been _proud_ to have called you a daughter.”

Catra began laughing. Adora gently punched her, not hard enough to hurt her, and she stopped. She did, however, let a few giggles slip out.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said, trying to keep from laughing, her smirk breaking occasionally.

“For the record, Hordak? I think you would have been a good dad. It would’ve done you good to let someone in.”

“Maybe you’ll have the opportunity someday,” Catra said. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Hordak smiled. “You know, I wanted so badly to hate you, Catra. After it all, though, I feel we may have been among the only ones who understood each other. Entrapta saw our good, but we… we saw each other’s bad. There was something about that.”

“Yeah, but I made my own bad stuff happen. You never got a choice.”

“Sometimes, that is how life is.”

Catra looked between Adora and Netossa. “He got, like, super chill, right? That’s so weird.”

 _Chill_. Hordak had never heard the term used in such a context. Interesting. Perhaps he would need to search Etherian language archives.

Catra sat down next to them. She cuddled into Adora’s shoulder. Hordak placed his hands on his thighs. He bit at his lip gently. The bench had only room for three in its current state. Reluctantly, the defendant squeezed in with the two to make room for Netossa.

“You really think we deserved to win?” Adora asked.

“Adora, I tried to keep passion out of it. You brought all the passion you could. I brought facts and you brought morals. I was right, and you beat me despite that. You and Catra won, fair and square.”

“Thank you,” Adora said.

“Don’t get used to it,” Netossa said. “I’m still gonna be a sore loser about everything else.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Hordak said. “For what it is worth, I believe your wife should not have gotten chipped.”

Netossa scowled.

“Bad timing?” Hordak asked.

Adora slapped Hordak’s shoulder gently. “It’s never good timing to bring up someone’s chipped wife.”

Hordak supposed that was correct.

Then came some new figures. Force Captains Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio, along with the spider robot Emily. The Force Captains looked awkwardly around.

Kyle presented Hordak with Imp. The small clone grinned wide with a resounding shout of _Hordad! Hordad!_.He nearly hollered with happiness. He held Imp tight in his arms. Catra, meanwhile, approached Emily. The robot backed away, and Catra slowly backed away as well. Eventually, after this dance continued, Catra finally reached out a hand. She patted the robot on the head, and it seemed to hop with mirth.

Then came the breaking of a ventilation shaft and an exclamation of “Oops!” From the vent came Entrapta, who had somehow, in some way Hordak could not comprehend, contorted herself into the ventilation shaft. Hordak handed Imp to Catra. With his best reflexes, he dived and caught her, although with the position of her hair, he was certain she could have saved herself.

“Hi,” she said, moving her eyebrows up and down.

Hordak was not sure what this gesture meant. It made him blush nonetheless. He supposed this was a certain mystery he would need to uncover.

If he were to be exiled, he knew that at least he would have spent his final moments in Etheria with friends. He wondered how, if he succeeded, they would tell this tale. Hordak himself would personally have stopped before the result came in. He would have stopped here. Whether he won or lost, it hardly mattered; the effort had been valiant, and Hordak was surrounded with his friends and family. Entrapta was in his arms, Catra was affectionately playing with Imp in spite of their previous malignance toward one another. It was a happy moment, a perfect one to end on.

Hordak, however, was not telling the story. There would be results. He did not know whether he would like them or not. They could remove this happy ending, yet the simple truth was that nothing ever ended.

There was an anxiety to it as they waited. The Force Captains sat on the floor and chatted with one another, occasionally sharing kisses, with Kyle sometimes exchanging an affectionate bonking of heads with Rogelio. Entrapta occasionally dotted Hordak’s face, already adorned with lipstick marks, with more. Adora and Catra took turns playing with Imp.

It was practically perfect; the only issue was that it could all be broken if the results were poor. Every bit of joy and mirth could entirely disappear. It could all shatter.

If happiness was this fragile, perhaps it was not worth it at all.

Hordak said _no_. Happiness was fragile indeed, but that made it all the more valuable. Only the most valuable things could be torn away with such ease.

Even Netossa seemed anxious. She paced frantically, clearly hoping she had not condemned Hordak in what was an honest mistake. Hordak simply breathed, and held Entrapta tight. She ran a finger across his chest, pointing to the crest of Dryl. She mouthed the words _Prince Hordak_. He wondered if such a thing would have even been conceivable a mere day ago.

Hordak had walked through lightning to return to Entrapta. If he were to lose her now, so be it; it was better to have stood and been struck down than lie down and submit. There was no point in focusing on the past, and perhaps no point in even focusing on the future. Right now was all Hordak had. His little soliloquy had eased his mind somewhat.

There were a thousand lamentations that could be sung of the past. They hardly mattered. Lamentations were nothing but grief, and while they could be of use, they would not be today. Today, the only mission was to enjoy Hordak’s last moment of love.

“You’re beautiful,” Hordak said.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

Hordak would deny such claims, but his denials would be meaningless.

Then, out rushed Bow. He frantically tapped at the data pad. He stuck his tongue out slightly, lodging every last vote. He looked to Hordak. “Discount Catra’s vote,” he muttered. His eyes went wide.

There was silence. Anticipation. They did not know what was coming.

“Hordak,” he said. He sounded almost worried. Hordak gulped. A strike of thunder nearly caused him to drop Entrapta. “Come into the courtroom.”

Hordak went in alone, escorted by Bow. The jurors had exited out into a different hall, it seemed. Hordak kneeled before the Queen of Bright Moon.

Bow approached the throne as the doors shut. Hordak knew that this was the moment. Etherian justice would be defined by this; more importantly, however, this determined whether or not Hordak would ever see Entrapta again, whether he would touch her face. It determined whether he would hear the laugh of his beloved, or once more speak to the woman who could have been his daughter had he been better. This was the moment where the verdict was declared. Glimmer spoke.

“Former Lord Hordak, now merely Hordak, likely soon to be Prince Hordak of Dryl…”

Hordak smiled. Glimmer had revealed the outcome already. He kneeled further to conceal his grin.

“...you are declared innocent on all charges due to lack of agency. Now, please get the fuck out of my courtroom.”

Hordak smiled. The exhilaration of the moment was something which could not by any means be priced. In his joy, he inadvertently smashed a massive hole in the doors as he attempted to make his way to the hallway. Entrapta saw his smile, and rushed to hug him. Missing the message that hugs were something only Entrapta could engage in, the Force Captains joined, then Catra and Adora. Netossa, meanwhile, gave him a nod of solidarity. Then, Hordak felt a new figure, one he recognized from the scent of lilac and roses.

“ _Bow_ ,” he said. “ _Why_ are you hugging me?”

Bow backed away.

Hordak accepted the hugs briefly, but then it came time that he be alone with Entrapta. Perhaps the thing most momentous than his betrayal of Horde Prime had just occurred. Entrapta attempted to persuade him to join her in the ventilation shafts, but after repeated denials, she finally walked across golden, polished hallways with him. The two wandered, alone.

The occasional dirty look from the guards notwithstanding, it was a journey most pleasant. The two held hands, and walked up and down stairs that anyone else would call debilitating. Instead, it was amazing. They were together. That was what mattered.

At last, they reached the top floor of Bright Moon’s citadel. Entrapta pulled Hordak around in a dusty old ballroom. Neither of them quite knew how to dance, but it hardly mattered. Then, they searched through a library of ancient books. Although Hordak would somewhat rather they read clinical texts, Entrapta selected instead a trashy romance novel. Hordak would never admit it, but he had read said novel already. Still, as they read the exceptionally salacious tales of courtly love, they laughed and loved.

Even when they found the book had a depressing finale, where the handsome count fell by the hand of his rival, the malicious duke, they enjoyed themselves. Hordak read the lines of the count’s death with all the overwrought melodrama he could muster, which made Entrapta laugh. Every second of it was a celebration of their love.

Then, they moved to another room. Entrapta’s eyes lit up as she saw dozens of First Ones artifacts. She began to scramble for them, picking them up en masse. There was a certain sparkling in her delight. Hordak smiled as he dutifully grasped them in his hands. If this was the duty of a Prince, it was far more relaxing than warfare.

Entrapta began work immediately. Before long, she was calibrating artifacts while they conversed. The two debated whether or not his armor would have been better with a cape; ultimately, Hordak won out by pointing out that a cape could be easily snagged. Nothing could come between them, even when the guards took them out of the room, noting that they _probably_ should not be ransacking the secret stash of First Ones artifacts held by the citadel of Bright Moon.

Entrapta tapped his shoulder after they agreed to have arrangements made to acquire those artifacts. She told him there was something special she wanted to show him. Hordak had assumed it was some manner of scientific project, but instead, she brought him out to a balcony. The sun was beginning to go down.

“This is my favorite place in Bright Moon,” she said. “I found it yesterday. Adora was going to get you, and I was going to propose here.”

“I am sorry,” Hordak said.

“Don’t be,” Entrapta said. “I’m thinking of installing touch sensors into your armor, so that even before we find a better way of helping you, I can cuddle you and you can really feel it.”

Hordak smiled. “That sounds quite nice.”

“I can’t believe we won!” she said. “That was so tense, being there with you in the hallway, not knowing! It’s just… it’s so amazing that we won, you know?”

“It is.”

“You deserve it. You deserve happiness.”

“You will not mock me if I make an awkward revelation?”

“What’s that?”

“I would like to try my hand at poetry. You said I was a poet once, and it made me feel very proud.”

“I’d make it a hobby,” Entrapta said. “We’ve still gotta help fix Etheria.”

“Right,” Hordak said. “Any idea where to start?”

“Beast Island!” Entrapta exclaimed. “I left someone there.”

“If you left them on Beast Island, they have likely perished.”

“It was a robot.”

“Ah.”

That would be quite the adventure. They could go to Beast Island and retrieve her creation. Imp, Hordak had placed once more in the care of Kyle and Rogelio for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, they would return Imp to him, and all would become normal. Hordak wondered, after all this time, what normal was.

“Ooh! I’ve perfected my soups! It was hard, but I’ve really figured it out this time! I’ve got it, I swear!”

Hordak was unsure about that.

“Excellent,” he said. “I look forward to trying your soups. They’re--”

“--terrible?” Entrapta asked.

“No!” Hordak said. “I was going to say cozy.”

Entrapta practically cooed at that. She wrapped her arms around her beloved. He did not feel strong or powerful in this moment. Hordak was weak. It was alright.

The storm had subsided entirely. The only remnant of it were puddles of water in the ground. Etheria looked like a painting, the sunset illuminating everything now in beautiful pink. Hordak looked at Entrapta’s beautiful eyes, and thought perhaps entire galaxies were contained in them.

“I love you,” he said.

“You say that a lot,” she said. “I love you too, though.”

“I would happily be your Prince. It would be my honor.”

“I know it would. You deserve it. Deep down, you’ve always been a bit of a Prince.”

“I have _not_ ,” the conqueror scoffed.

“Uh-huh. You have a sanctum.”

“Not untrue.”

“You ruled a lot of territory.”

“Does that really mean one is a Prince?”

“You eventually betrayed someone who was basically an evil king.”

“That is also true, but I would not accept his throne.”

“So accept mine.”

That, Hordak would do quite happily.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he asked. “Pretty. Pretty, I’ve never known that before I met you. Things were not ‘pretty’ if they were not of use to Prime. He would consider this sunset obsolete if he could not bottle it and make it his.”

“We could make it ours,” Entrapta said.

“Let us _not_ ,” Hordak said. “I do not want to find myself in Bright Moon’s courtroom so quickly after I have left it.”

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s not. Fair point.”

“Do you think he had anyone like me?” Entrapta asked.

“Who?”

“Horde Prime.”

“Perhaps once. He was never able to care for someone else as I did. He thought himself beautiful.”

“And you?”

“I believe that every part of you is beautiful. Especially your imperfections.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Entrapta said affectionately. “It’s so cute!”

“I am not cute,” Hordak mumbled.

“You’re _adorable_. Where else would Imp get his cuteness from?”

“Well, I did genetically cross my own DNA with a rather endearing, nearly extinct creature.”

“Oh! That’s so cool! That’s really, really neat. I didn’t know you could do that. You know who else didn’t know you could do genetic engineering that well?”

“Who?”

“Horde Prime. You were better than him.”

It was petty, but Hordak enjoyed that notion. Even in his greatest of skills, Horde Prime would always be exceeded by his own creations. That was perhaps his driving motive, yet he had a lust for power so insatiable he would never simply stop.

“I suppose I was.”

“Do you think they’ll make poems? Stories? Songs?”

“I’ve wondered that myself lately. The clones say they will document my history. _Hordak_ , first to take a name and to defy the will of Prime. A name that is a curse and a blessing alike. A hero and a murderer.”

“Oh, that’s so fancy! Maybe you could write some of those yourself!”

“No, I would not do such a thing. My account would be far too biased.”

“Yeah. You’d describe yourself as ugly, probably kinda rancid, probably a monster. You’d make yourself sound all spooky and creepy when you’re really kinda just a big soft teddy bear.”

“What is a ‘teddy bear?’ I was under the belief bears were predators.”

“Oh, they are, but they’re cool too. No, a teddy bear is this thing that people have. It’s really cute and snuggly and it’s usually used to avoid stress.”

“It sounds quite nice.”

“Not as nice as you.”

If not for Hordak’s joy, this would have become tiring. Yet, he could not find himself bored, even as they displayed sweetness that would repulse others. They watched the sunset. Eventually, as Hordak droned on, Entrapta fell asleep in his arms. As she slept, he caressed her hair.

No more was she a dream. No more was freedom a dream. He had won.

As they held one another, as the night grew dark and cold, Adora approached. Hordak shushed her as she began to speak, noting the sleeping Entrapta. She nodded, and then sat down.

“We won,” she whispered.

“We did,” Hordak said in the same hushed tone.

“I didn’t think we could pull it off.”

“We did nonetheless. It was mainly thanks to the timely intervention of Catra.”

“I mean, of all the things, _Catra_ saving your life was unexpected.”

“She saw a certain kinship, I think. Not to mention, she was correct. Fear can be dangerous.”

“You got your happy ending.”

“Ending?” Hordak asked. “No, nothing ends, Princess. There is and always will be work to do. The universe is an ever-expanding, everlasting spiral.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“Not that deep.”

“You meant it? What you said about how you’d be proud to have me as your daughter?”

Hordak inhaled the cold night air. “Yes, of course.”

“So, is this goodbye? You’re going back to Dryl?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Good,” Adora said. “I’ll be happy to see you again.”

She walked away. Hordak looked at the moon. Never had he truly liked it before, as much as he liked it now. It glowed.

Hordak wanted to say that he would achieve complete success in every effort. He desired that he would cure his disease, and that he would marry Entrapta. He wished that he could say with utter certainty that he would fix Etheria, and that he would improve it. He hoped that, when they wrote of him in history books, they would write of how, after all his damage, he made countless accomplishments and advancements in repairing the world.

He did not know such things would happen. There would always be evil. Perhaps history would remember him only as an evil conqueror. Such things, he left to chance. All he knew was tonight, he was free, and Entrapta was in his arms. It was all a man could ask.

At some point in the night, Kyle and Rogelio wandered by. They delivered Imp to his father, and Imp quickly mounted himself upon Hordak’s shoulder. Despite clear temptations on his face to scream out recordings of joy and happiness at the reunion, Imp remained silent out of respect for Entrapta. Hordak patted his head gently, oh so gently. Imp had been a creation of the Horde, of ambition to serve Hordak’s master. Hordak had never presumed he would be there far after the war was over, and he had certainly never assumed he would love Imp more than he did Prime.

Imp’s delightful cherubic features were completely unlike those of Hordak; it was only through the failures of the cloning techniques that had necessitated native Etherian genetics. Imperfection was the reason Hordak had created such a gorgeous little clone. Entrapta was correct. Imperfections were beautiful.

There was only one thing left. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, which was guaranteed to bring daylight; it guaranteed new struggles, new feats, new quests. It guaranteed more conversation with Entrapta, and more joy, but also more sorrow. He was quite sure he would see Horde Prime again, in his nightmares, but he would be able to fight past it. It would be alright.

Tomorrow had been guaranteed. Perhaps Hordak’s happy ending would not. The story would last an eternity either way. All he could guarantee was that he had, in this moment, all he desired.

Thus did Hordak fall asleep. He nestled into Entrapta, and they rested together. Hordak held her tight, and she did the same. The two shared a dream beautiful in its simplicity.

Hordak and Entrapta dreamed only of tomorrow.


End file.
